


Things Gone Cold

by MediaWhore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bertha - Freeform, Break Up, Car Accidents, Famous Harry, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Hospitals, Jeff is kind of a dick in this soz Jeffrey, M/M, Non-Famous Louis, Outing, Post-Break Up, antique shop, ex to lovers, gratuitous personification of various objects, mostly a car, well not really but soulmate outing if that makes any sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 12:37:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediaWhore/pseuds/MediaWhore
Summary: "your heart is warm for things gone cold.”— Sophocles, AntigoneWith his soulmate’s thoughts about him written on his skin and the world’s eyes trailing his every movement, Harry Styles is having a bit of a rough time releasing his second album in peace. And that’s not even counting the breakup. Or the car crash.





	Things Gone Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I wrote most of this in two days and it's a bit of a fever dream. Hopefully, it's still entertaining!  
> Also, guess who knows nothing about hospitals/injuries and the music industry??? Yep. Again, hopefully, it won't bother you guys too much haha. 
> 
> Special thanks to Lauren (@hrrytomlinson) for the gorgeous tumblr edit and the never-ending belief that I would manage to finish the thing. Look Lauren, I finished the thing!

 

_“your heart is warm for things gone cold.”_

_— Sophocles, Antigone_

 

Now

 

“What about your soulmark Harry? You’ve been very cagey about it through the years, but are you looking forwards to finding your match? Do you think it’s harder being famous?”

 

Harry chuckles, heart twisting painfully, a burst of anger bubbling in his chest.

The interviewer is looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes, daring him to throw a fit for going off script like this. It’s the only blacklisted question Harry has, the one thing he absolutely refuses to talk about. She knows it, her team knows it, the whole world knows it.

 

She’ll lose access for this, will never interview him again that’s for damn sure if Jeff’s thunderous looks from behind the cameras are to be trusted, but she doesn’t seem to care. Her posture is very confident as she moves her fringe off her face with a delicate flick of her wrist. Her own soulmark is exposed, the word _precious_ written in small letters on her skin.

 

He has to answer is the thing. They’re live and it’s been almost three seconds already so Harry has to say something, has to give her the hits she so clearly desperately wanted, and he feels a bit nauseous as he tries to find the right words that won’t make him seem aloof.

 

Harry clears his throat, his right hand automatically wrapping around the watch he wears on his left wrist, absentmindedly offering his mark a second layer of protection it doesn’t need. It’s hidden, the band of the watch thick and tight. He can’t remember the last time he took it off, even in private, can’t remember the last time he looked down to see what his soulmate thinks of him these days. It wouldn’t be anything nice anyway, so what’s the point?

 

“Umm,” Harry starts hesitantly, doing his hardest to school his feature into a neutral expression. “Well, it’s… uh. Soulmarks are uh… Just the… the nature of soulmarks means being vulnerable, you know? Your soulmate thoughts and feelings are exposed for people to see, it’s uh… it’s on your skin,” Harry stutters, pointing towards the interviewer’s wrist. “And when you’re famous, you’re not just exposed to your friends and family and the people at the grocery store, you know? You’re vulnerable to the whole world and that’s… that’s…” Harry exhales shakily. He risks a glance towards Jeff and looks away quickly when he notices the sad tilt of his mouth. He’s screwing this up. “It’s daunting.”

 

“Finding your soulmate is something you find scary?”

 

“No,” Harry declares. “No, I… I’m looking forward to it,” he lies through his teeth. “I just don’t think that because I’m famous I owe those details to complete strangers. I know some people in the public eye are comfortable with that, but I’m just not.”

 

“It’s something you think should remain private, then?” the woman insists, eyes determined and Harry rarely dislikes people, but in that second he truly hates her.

 

“Evidently,” he replies curtly, folding his arms tightly across his chest, hoping she’ll get the message.

 

And she does. She moves along, changing the subject smoothly like she hasn’t tried to expose Harry’s private life for the whole world to say, asking him about the process of writing the album and the differences in sound between his first and this one.

 

Harry tries to move on too, to let it go, but the oppressing feeling in his chest stays long after the interview is over.

 

Then

 

Harry is zipping his jeans up in front of the urinals, The Script still playing in the background, when he notices the writing on his left wrist change from _anticipation_ to _wow_. He gasps, letting go of his still unbuttoned trousers, eyes fixed on his wrist, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

 

His mark has been set to _anticipation_ for over a year now, his soulmate’s excitement at the thought of meeting him one of the few absolute certainties of Harry’s life. Before that, it had read _stranger_ , as so many people’s do before they’ve met the one.

 

It’s always made him feel special, to know that his soulmate is waiting for him just like he’s waiting for them, that they’re probably looking forward to it as much as Harry is. None of his friend’s marks read anything other than _stranger_ after all, none of them is getting a soulmate as lovely as Harry’s. A soulmate who is here somewhere, who has seen Harry tonight, who thinks Harry is worth feeling _wow_ about.

 

Harry inhales sharply, buttoning his jeans with shaky hands, staring at his wrist, almost afraid the word will disappear if he isn’t looking. He shakes his head, then gulps, before slowly turning around to face the person supposedly born for him.

 

His heart stops in his chest when he finally catches sight of the only other person in the toilet. It’s a boy, a beautiful boy who was looking at Harry, but who has averted his gaze now that he’s turned around to face him.

 

Harry wants to say something because this is it, the moment every single person waits for, the moment he’s been waiting for, but he can’t. He feels paralysed, stuck in place, heart beating wildly. He’s a fucking mess and this boy… this boy is beautiful with fluffy hair and a curvy body. It has to be him, Harry’s soulmate, but it feels almost impossible because he looks too pretty and ethereal to be someone Harry is destined to have. He almost looks out of this world under the flickering neons of this tiny toilet in an arena in Manchester.

 

“You…” Harry starts, then trails off when the boy lifts his head and meets his gaze. Harry lets out a tiny gasp, mind overwhelmed at the sight of _blueblueblue_ eyes and suddenly he can’t think of what to say anymore.

 

There’s a long pause of awkward silence.

 

“You,” the boy repeats after him, rubbing a thumb against his own wrist.

 

Harry’s heart jump in his throat at the gesture, his palms shaky and sweaty as they stare at each other, both overwhelmed with the knowledge of who they’ll be for one another, but neither knowing what to say quite yet. It’s never this awkward in the romcoms Harry spends so much time watching with his sister. Soulmates meet one another with butterflies in their tummies and they embrace fiercely for the first time, tears streaming down their faces way too beautifully to be real. Harry has been waiting for this polished cinematic moment all his life… His soulmate is here and beautiful, surely now is when the music swells and everything is right in the world?

 

Not quite. The toilet stays an ugly toilet and the boy keeps staring at Harry silently, frozen in place with wide eyes. Not to mention, Harry is pretty sure the only creature in his stomach is something scary and overpowering. Like a vulture eating away at his insides.

 

“Well,” the boy finally says in a soft airy voice, “this is awkward.”

 

Harry snorts, putting a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the horribly embarrassing sound, but it only makes his soulmate smile.

 

“Definitely not how I imagined meeting you…” he continues, wiggling his eyebrows. “I mean, we’re at the urinals and you haven’t even washed your hands yet!” he adds, sounding half shocked and half awed.

 

Harry blushes, taking his hand off his face quickly. “Right,” he mumbles, stumbling on his way to the sink to wash his hands, hating the fact that they are still visibly shaking.

 

“Careful there,” the pretty boy says, putting a hand on Harry’s hip as he walks past, trying to steady him.

 

Harry jumps at the touch, colliding with the sink as he tries to escape without even realising it.

 

God, what is he doing? This is his soulmate for god’s sake, the person he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with, surely he can handle a short conversation with him.

 

“I”m sorry,” Harry mumbles while the boy says: “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’m being creepy.”

 

Harry washes his hands quickly before drying them off on his jeans, taking a quick look at his red cheeks and messy hair in the mirror before turning back around to face what is still the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen.

 

He had hoped, naively perhaps, that the boy would have started looking normal after a bit. But no, he still looks amazing, with soft eyes, and what looks like an even softer skin.

 

He inhales loudly. “You’re not. You’re not being creepy. I’m just nervous,” Harry admits, wanting to lay the foundation for a painfully honest relationship. If this is to be the man of his dreams, Harry can man up and tell him he’s bricking it. “I’ve never met my soulmate before,” he adds with a small shrug and a self-deprecating eye roll.

The boy smirks in response. “Me neither, what a coincidence!”

 

Harry laughs, wrinkling his nose before rubbing it with his finger. “M’ Harry,” he says shyly when he notices the way his wrist now reads _cute_.

 

“Louis. Louis Tomlinson,” he replies, offering Harry a hand and he could swear his heart stops beating the second their skin officially touch for the first time.

 

“Nice to meet you.”

 

“Yeah,” Louis whispers, still holding Harry’s hand tightly. “You’re... How old are you? Do you go to school in Manchester? What’s your last name? I….” he stops himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m doing the whole creepy thing again, aren’t I? I just… I’ve been really excited to meet you.”

 

“I know,” Harry replies, looking down at his wrist. “And don’t worry, you’re fine. I wanna ask you things too.”

 

“Yeah?” Louis says excitedly.

 

“Of course. I’m…” Harry gulps, letting go of Louis’ hand. “I’m 16,” he declares solemnly, trying to introduce himself properly. “I’m actually from Holmes Chapel, that’s where I live. And my last name is Styles. And I don’t mind you asking me questions. At all. I’m looking forwards to them. I… I can’t wait to get to know you.”

 

“Are you going back to Holmes Chapel tonight?” Louis demands, taking a step forward.

 

Harry nods. “Yeah, yes. My big sister and I are taking the train after the show.”

 

“I can drive you,” Louis blurts. ”I mean, if you want. It’d be a good way for us to get to know each other, you know? I promise, I’m a really safe driver. I’m 18, so I’ve been driving for a full year already. And, you know, I have four little sisters and my mom lets me drive them around all the time. You can tell your big sister that I’m super safe, I promise. I won’t go over the limit or anything. I mean it’d be stupid to go fast, when the goal is to spend as much time with you as possible...”

 

Harry smiles, letting Louis ramble for a while longer before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’d like that.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah, if it’s no trouble? I know it’ll be a bit of a detour for you to come back to Manchester, but -”

 

“It’s not! It’s not. I don’t even live in Manchester.”

 

“You don’t?”

 

“No, I’m in Doncaster.”

 

“That’s an even bigger detour,” Harry says with a laugh.

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Alright.”

 

*

 

Harry is still rubbing his wrist when he finally finds his sister at their seats, the word _wow_ back on his skin now that he and Louis have temporarily parted ways. He doesn’t know how long he’s been gone, but he can guess it’s been too long from the strange looks Gemma keeps sending his way.

 

She leans into him after a few seconds of side glances, putting a careful hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” she asks, making herself as loud as possible over the song. “Are you ill?”

 

Harry shakes his head. He’s not quite sure how to explain what he’s feeling, but ill is definitely not it.

 

“Are you sure?” Gemma insists.

 

“I’m fine!” Harry snaps. He softens when he sees her worried face. “I’m great,” he admits reluctantly. He wanted to keep Louis for himself a while longer, but his sister knows him too well to be fooled by any lies he might come up with. “I…” The music swells just as Harry is about to explain what happened and closes his mouth, pushing his wrist onto her lap silently instead.

She gasps when she notices the word, her eyes wide when they meet his again. She shakes her head slowly, frowning a little, obviously confused. Harry nods in response, confirming what she already knows.

 

“Oh my god,” she whispers, before getting up, forgetting the concert entirely. She grabs Harry’s arm, dragging him through the crowd until they reach a quieter corridor in the arena. “Who is it? What happened? Tell me everything!!”

 

Harry laughs, trying to push her off. “It all happened so fast,” he mumbles, still disbelieving. He can hear the sound of the Encore, faint and foreign to his ears. He can hear Louis’ soft voice in his mind, stronger than anything that is actually happening around him.

 

“Oh my god, talk now!!!” Gemma says strongly, shaking his arm impatiently.

 

“I met him in the toilets which doesn’t sound very romantic, but…” Harry trails off, then sighs. There’s something about Louis, something about the way Harry felt settled in his presence… He supposes that’s what meeting your soulmate is like, suddenly feeling both old and young, and like everything is happening and everything is going to be okay. “His name is Louis. He’s beautiful, Gemma.”

 

“I can’t believe it!”

 

“I know, it’s crazy. But he wants to drive me home, so we can talk. Can you cover for me?” Harry begs.

 

“What am I supposed to say? Mum is expecting us.”

 

“Anything, say I went to Johnny’s or whoever else!”

 

“And I’m just supposed to let you go off with a stranger?” she demands, but Harry knows she’s mostly just teasing. She’d never try to ruin the moment he’s been waiting for so long. Besides, it’s his _soulmate_ , what does she think could happen?

 

Harry just gives her an exasperated look and she laughs in response like she always does when he tries to emotionally manipulate her into doing what he wants.  

 

“Of course, I’ll cover for you little brother,” she replies because even when she mocks his attempts, she always has his back. “If,” she adds seriously, “and only if, you promise to tell me everything when you get back.”

 

“Promise,” Harry nods excitedly, leaning into his big sister when she ruffles his hair affectionately.

 

He can’t believe this is _finally_ happening.

 

*

 

Harry waits as the arena empties, leaning casually against a trash can as he watches people walk past him. He checks the exit number again, making sure he’s in the agreed spot, then sighs.

 

He should have asked for Louis’ number right away. But in their urgency to get back to the show and their respective entourage, they both forgot silly things like a mean of contacting one another. Harry supposes if he waits much longer, he could just add Louis on Facebook and communicate with him this way, but still. He should have been more prepared.

 

He looks down at his wrist, wanting to bask once again in Louis’ thoughts about him, when he notices that _wow_ has been replaced with _guilt_ **_._ ** He frowns, feeling taken aback. Did Louis forget about him? Has he left already? Harry’s heart starts beating a bit faster and he fumbles for his phone, hoping to catch Gemma before she leaves for the train station. He’s just about to call her when he feels a hand on his arm.

 

“Harry!” Louis says, slightly out of breath.

 

Harry stops, his finger hovering over the call button. He closes the phone but still keeps it in his hand, before turning around with a wary look on his face. He’s surprised when he’s faced not only with Louis, but also two other teens who are obviously seizing him up with small smiles on their faces.

 

“Hey,” Harry replies, with a shy wave, holding his phone close to his chest with his other hand. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up.

 

“Of course not!” Louis replies, visibly offended at the thought, before his face falls under a curtain of guilt and uneasiness. “I forgot though, with all the… excitement, you know? I said I’d drive my friends home, and Stan has a curfew,” he explains, pointing to one of the boys behind him.

 

The other boy snickers at the word curfew, like it’s somehow embarrassing to have one, but Harry supposes things feel different when you’re a legal adult out in the world. Or at least, he assumes Louis’ friends are all over eighteen too which only makes him feel a bit silly and young in comparison.

 

“Oi!” the so named Stan calls out, elbowing his mocking friend. “You have a curfew too, dickhead, so stop laughing.” He softens his features when he turns back to look at Harry, his face clearly remorseful. “I’m really sorry for ruining your… date thing. First meeting, or whatever. The last thing we’d want is to steal this time together from you, but we really don’t have the cash for the train. And despite Cal laughing his head off, his parents will actually murder him if he’s late.”

 

“It’s alright,” Harry replies with a shy smile and shrug. “I don’t mind.”

 

“Do you want me to drop you off at the train station?” Louis asks, clearly still worried and guilty. He takes a step forwards, reaching for Harry’s shoulder with a shaky hand before changing his mind and putting it on top of the trash can Harry is leaning on. “Is your sister already gone? Do you want us to help you find her?”

 

“Oh,” Harry replies, a hint disappointed. “Hum… Actually, I meant that it’s fine if you want to drop them off first. I can come.” He realises it’s a foolish suggestion the moment it comes out of his mouth. Still, Louis smiles fondly while his friends giggle behind their hands. Harry feels his cheeks heating up at the reaction. “I mean,” he quickly amends, trying to save this, “I know it’s a big detour, going home first, then to Holmes Chapel, and then back home... it was probably a stupid idea.”

 

“Oh, it’s stupid and romantic enough for Tommo to do it!” Cal says teasingly and Louis rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too, clearly amused by both Harry’s suggestion and his friends’ ribbing.

 

“Yeah, that’s actually true. I think it’s a perfect plan. Your parents won’t mind?”

 

“My sister is covering for me.”

 

“Well,” Louis says happily, clapping his hands together, “you can come and meet Bertha, then.”

 

“Bertha?” Harry asks as he starts following Louis and his friends to the parking lot.

 

“Louis’ baby,” Stan whispers, conspiring, wrapping a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulder.

 

*

 

Bertha, as it turns out, is an old pink beetle car that has clearly seen better days. Louis shows her off proudly though, arms stretched out theatrically.

 

“What do you think?” Louis says, wiggling his eyebrow.

 

“She’s very cute,” Harry replies and he’s not even lying to please his soulmate.

 

Bertha is clearly a vehicle with personality, a car to match her lively owner. Harry might have known Louis only a few hours, but it’s become clear very quickly that he’s larger than life. He’s loud and expressive, gesticulative in the best ways, making Harry’s eyes wide in wonder every time he open his mouth. It might just be because Louis is Harry’s _soulmate,_ his other half, his missing half, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around the concept. Because, a few hours ago it _was_ a mere concept and now it’s a reality. Now, his soulmate is a real boy with crinkly eyes and a soft voice, with a heart that beats and dainty wrists. A boy who thinks Harry is _wow_ and _cute,_ who feels guilty at the thought of disappointing him, who would drive hours in the night just to spend a few extra moments getting to know him.

 

Louis beams in response to Harry’s compliment, pride shining all over his face. “She thinks you’re pretty too,” he teases cheekily, frowning only when Stan gags exaggeratedly from behind him. “Oi, shut it!”

 

“Are we going?” Stan asks, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist. “I actually don’t want my parents to have a fit if I don’t come back on time.”

 

“Woah,” Louis stops him when he sees his friend reaching for the passenger door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

It’s white, as opposed to the rest of the car, one tiny piece of mismatched colour that makes the car fit Louis even better than Harry first thought. There’s probably a story behind it and Harry is about to ask when he realises Louis has started arguing with his friends.

 

“You’re not riding in the front,” Louis is declaring once Harry’s attention is back on them.

 

“We agreed!” Stan whines. “Cal was in front on the way here and I am on the way back. A deal is a deal, Tommo. You can’t back out now.”  

 

“Shut the fuck up Stan, obviously my _literal soulmate_ is going to be riding front with me,” Louis says in a definitive tone, reclining the front seat and gesturing for his friends to climb in.

 

“You suck.”

 

“I can also let you take the train, you know?” Louis says, offended and sassy, making Harry giggle a little.

 

Stan grimaces, then squirms through the small space to get in, but not before winking teasingly at Harry. Cal follows, letting out a swear when he knocks his elbow into the front seat. Louis rolls his eyes as he puts the seat back into place, mouthing “baby” while making eye contact with Harry. He straightens up, rubbing palms against his shirt before leaning into the car and putting his forearm on top, giving Harry a flirty look from across Bertha.

 

“So,” Louis says with a cocky smile.”Your ride awaits.”

 

“Why does she have one white door?” Harry asks, leaning over the car too, stretching his fingers to rub them softly against Louis’. From there, he can see Louis’ soulmark, the way _amazing_ curves prettily over his wrist and Harry wasn’t even aware he thought of Louis as amazing, but it’s true. He feels it deep in his bone somehow, he’s discovered it between the few moments they’ve exchanged together.

 

Louis chuckles, then shakes his head. “Nice try Harold,” he replies, licking the corner of his lips, “but that’s more of a fifth date kind of story.”

 

Harry laughs. “Alright. But Harold isn’t my name.”

 

“Well -” Louis starts saying, but he’s interrupted by Bertha screaming loudly and when they both look through the window, Cal has stretched over the front seat, one hand pressing the horn repeatedly. “Alright!” Louis yells. “I’m sorry about them,” he adds in a whisper, just for Harry.

 

“Are we leaving now?” Cal asks innocently once they’re all seated.  

 

“Yes we are, and I hope you realise that once you meet your soulmate I am officially going to make your life a living hell, as payback.”

 

“I’m ready lad,” Cal says, rolling down his window and stretching his legs over Stan’s.

 

“Oh, trust me,” Louis replies darkly, giving Harry a small side glance, “you really aren’t.”

 

*

 

It’s early in the morning rather than late at night by the time Louis finally slows down in Harry’s street, getting his car to a stop in front of the quiet family house. They’ve fallen silent for the last few miles, both of them starting to feel a bit tired. Now that he’s home though, Harry feels wide awake and ready to get to know Louis some more, feels hungry for more facts and details of his life. They’ve talked siblings and families, school and aspirations, until the conversation drifted off to favourite bands and music, after Harry shyly shared his ambition of becoming a recording artist one day. Yet, it still doesn’t feel like enough. He has a whole of eighteen years of his other half’s life to catch up on! A few hours spent on the road could never feel satisfying enough and it was foolish of them to expect them to be. Now that Harry has met Louis there’s an insatiable hunger in his belly, the desire to know him in every way and be known as deeply in return. And they’re on the right track, what with the way he let his most personal dream stumble out of his mouth and into Louis’ palm, a tiny and precious ambition he never dared to say out loud before. It felt both weird and comfortable to share this dream he’s been nurturing secretly for months. For the first time in his life, Harry feels okay being vulnerable with a stranger and he’s not quite ready to let go yet.

 

“I kinda don’t want to go home yet,” Harry admits, looking up at his bedroom window.

 

The house is dark and quiet, the entire family most likely still asleep. Harry can already see himself pacing his bedroom anxiously, waiting for his sister to wake up so he can tell her everything that’s happened. Sleep is the furthest thing from his mind.

 

“Yeah?” Louis asks and when Harry turns his head to look at him, he’s biting his lower lips and his fingers are drumming nervously against the wheel.

 

“I know I should probably be tired, but I just feel....”

 

“Overwhelmed?” Louis asks just as Harry whispers: “Exposed.”

 

There’s a beat of silence before Louis frowns, turns off the car, then turns in his seat to face Harry, one leg folded so he can rest his chin on his knee.

 

“What do you mean?” he asks softly. “Have I made you uncomfortable? Have my friends -”

 

“No! Of course not! I just feel all…” He gestures vaguely. “Hyped.” He blushes, then scrunches his nose. “I’m explaining this pretty poorly, uh?”

 

“No, I think… I think I get what you mean. It’s a bit weird because technically we’re strangers, but also we’re not and it’s easy to be vulnerable with each other… it’s almost comfortable? And that feels weird because it’s not… weird. So we’re exposed to each other and that means we’re all…. Messed up. And overexcited.” Louis’ eyes widen and he closes his mouth, turning back to face the steering wheel. “I mean, you know…I am, anyway?” he adds with a chuckle.

 

“Yes!” Harry exclaims with a laugh. “That’s exactly it. I feel like I’m… going to vibrate out of my skin. Or my soul will, at least,” he tries to explain, spreading his fingers out in front of him, surprised to see they aren’t shaking.

 

Louis chuckles, giving him a fond look. “I’m not surprised you want to be a singer, with your way with words.”

 

“Are you making fun of me?”

 

“What? No! I thought that was poetic! The bit with the vibrating soul!” Louis grimaces when Harry snorts. “Well, when _I_ say it like that it sounds creepy and vaguely pornographic, but you phrased that beautifully. Really. I should know, I listen to a lot of music.”

 

“Do you read a lot of poetry too? Because songwriters are poets and if I wanna be the first, I need to be the second too,” Harry replies.

 

“Of course!” Louis says, looking mildly offended. ‘Who do you take me for? I read tons of poetry,” he adds, blatantly lying.

 

“No, you don’t.”

 

“Alright,” Louis admits goodnaturedly, slouching in his seat and leaning towards Harry, “I don’t read poetry. I’ll read yours though, if you’ll let me.”

 

“I don’t really…” Harry trails off. He can’t exactly claim he doesn’t write poetry, but…

 

“Are you telling me you don’t write songs already? Really? I’m supposed to believe that?”

 

“Fine! I have some things written, it’s true. But it’s not… It’s not very polished yet. I’ll give you some much better titles to get you into poetry.”

 

“I don’t want polished poetry,” Louis declares, his eyes so blue and clear it’s distracting. “There’s not an author in this world I wanna read the thoughts of more than I wanna read yours.”

 

It’s a lot to hear him say it. It’s a lot and it’s fast. It should be scary, Harry thinks absently, but somehow it’s not.

 

“Did I freak you out, Harry Styles?” Louis says his name with a hint of reverence mixed with softness.

 

“Not even close,” Harry whispers, reaching for Louis’ wrist and wrapping his fingers around the word _breathtaking._ “I don’t think you could ever if I’m honest.”

 

“That kinda freaks me out,” Louis admits with a tiny frown.

 

Harry feels his face fall without meaning to and he’s still trying to school his feature back into a nonchalant expression when Louis snorts a little.

 

“Your face!”

 

“That wasn’t funny!”

 

Louis keeps smiling, reaching over to tug at one of Harry’s curls. “It was a little bit funny Harold.”

 

“I should go to bed,” Harry declares mockingly and he’s about to unbuckle his seat belt when Louis’ arms wrap around him, pinning him to his seat.

 

“No! Don’t go yet. I know you should, and it’d be the responsible thing to do, but who knows when we’ll get to see each other again? Between school and your work at the bakery and my babysitting the girls…”

 

“Are you saying you won’t come visit me again. Is Bertha not up to the challenge?” Harry pouts.

 

“I’ll come around every day if you want me too. But for now, I kinda don’t want tonight to end.”

 

Harry sneaks a look outside the window at the sun rising. “I think you mean this morning.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t want that to end either.”

 

“How about, we go for a walk?” Harry suggests candidly. “There’s a little park nearby? You can rest a bit before driving home. I wouldn’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.”

 

“Yeah, Bertha hates when I do that.,” Louis jokes. “She gets cranky,” he adds with a whisper and it’s not funny, not even close, but Harry still laughs, too overwhelmed by Louis’ entire being not to.

 

*

 

“Well, this is quite picturesque,” Louis declares once they reach the park five minutes later.

 

“I suppose it is,” Harry agrees, looking at the swing sets and the lone sand box. “Still, quite a lot of fond memories here,” he adds, letting himself drop on one of the swings. He gives Louis his best puppy eyes. “Push me?”

 

“Funny,” Louis comments, folding his arms across his chest, “that’s the exact face my little sisters make when they want the same thing.”

 

“Does it mean it’s going to work?”

 

“Oh, I’ll push you, darling,” Louis replies, slowly walking around the swing to place himself behind Harry, “in exchange for a memory from this place.”

 

Harry shivers at the feel of Louis’ breath against his neck.

 

“What kind of memory?”

 

“Any kind. You said you had a lot of fond ones from here…”

 

Harry hums pensively while Louis starts pushing him, his hands careful on Harry’s back.

 

“Well, I suppose I ate a lot of sand here,” he declares in a serious voice before giggling. “Big fan of my sister’s sand cookies.”

 

“Wow, thanks for the heads up Harold. So, what I’m hearing is that we shouldn’t have any plants in the house?”

 

Harry lowers his head, smiling at his shoes as Louis pushes him higher and higher until he feels like he’s flying. There’s something quite reassuring about the knowledge that, no matters what happens now, it’s going to be the two of them.

 

“I had my first kiss here, you know?” he adds teasingly and he yelps when Louis grabs the swing to make it stop.

 

“You did not!” Louis asks excitedly. “Tell me every embarrassing detail immediately.”

 

“Okay, it wasn’t exactly a kiss,” Harry admits, “but the girl in question did lick my face very intensely. And without my consent.”

 

“No!” Louis gasps theatrically. “Do you want me to roughen her up? Teach her a lesson?”

 

“Well, considering we were four, I think she’s probably over it by now.”

 

“Fair enough,” Louis replies. “What about your real first kiss, though?” he adds teasingly, whispering in Harry’s ear.

 

“That’s private!” Harry says in a gasp, pretending to be offended.

 

“Alright.”

 

“I’m surprised you’re not more insistent.”

 

Louis laughs, grabbing Harry by the hips and squeezing the hint of baby fat he still has there. He’d be embarrassed about it if it were anyone else, but there’s something about the way Louis touches and teases him that feels safe. He’s not mocking, he’s careful, and that makes Harry’s heart jump in his throat.

 

He supposes all the songs and movies are right when they say there is nothing like finding that missing half. He knew it already in a very abstract way of course, but it’s something else entirely to have that confirmed and so quickly. They’ve only spent a few hours together and already, Harry feels like he knows Louis.

 

And the craziest thing is that he doesn’t. Not really. There’s so much information missing, so many gaping holes in his knowledge of the man who is supposed to complete him, but somehow that doesn’t matter. Harry feels like he’s seen inside Louis’ heart already, and his soul can finally rest now that it has found its match.

 

“Are you listening to me?” Louis asks, taking Harry out of his reflection.

 

“What?” Harry asks, blinking sleepily and turning his head to look at Louis. “Did you say something?”

 

Louis smiles, before biting his lower lip. “I… uh…” He clears his throat, eyes intense on Harry’s face. “I said that it doesn’t matter. You’ll tell me that story eventually, and I have my whole life to figure it out anyway.”

 

Harry gulps, his gaze stopping on Louis’ lips for a second. “I suppose that’s true,” he replies, looking back up into Louis’ eyes.

 

“I -”

 

“I’m getting dizzy,” Harry blurts out nervously and hating himself a little for it. He gets up from the swing set and running for a few seconds before letting himself drop on the grass on his back.

 

He spreads out his arms and legs, smiling to himself when he first hears Louis snort, then drop next to him.

 

“Hey! Make some room will ya!” Louis teases, knocking their converses together.

 

Harry laughs, then moves closer to Louis so that they are barely touching.

 

A few seconds pass in silence, both of them comfortably lying down next to each other.

 

“You know,” Harry starts admitting in a small voice, “I never told that to anyone before.”  His top is bunched up a little in the back, his skin exposed to the cold ticking of the wet grass, but Harry stays down, pressing his shoulder against Louis’ where he’s lying next to him.

 

“Say what?” Louis asks and Harry loves the airy raspiness of his voice, loves the way it makes him feel both sleepy and alert at once, makes him feel comforted and a bit turned on.

 

“That I want to be a singer.”

 

“Really?” Louis says, voice now animated with disbelief. Harry can’t see his face right now, but he can so easily imagine the way his face is shaped in astonishment. He says so much with so little and Harry feels like he could stay here and listen to this boy - _his_ boy - talk forever.

 

“Yeah,” he confirms timidly, feeling a bit vulnerable at the admission.

 

“Why not?” Louis says, insisting, but never pushing.

 

He turns around a little, lying on his sides instead and he’s so close Harry can feel his hair tickling his cheek. It takes everything in his power not to turn as well and face him, but he struggles through the urge, knowing fully well he won’t be able to say what he wants to say faced with the devastating power of Louis’ gaze.

 

“S’just… Feels stupid, innit? Bit of a childish dream to have.”

 

“What?” Louis says with a laugh, reaching for Harry’s sleeve and sneaking a finger inside to caress the skin of his forearm. “Why would it be childish?” he adds while Harry shivers at the touch.

 

“Well, most of my friends are figuring out careers and stuff. Real plans? And here I am, wanting to sing for a living… I mean, statistically, that’s very unlikely.”

 

“Well, it’s statistically unlikely for someone to be as charming and charismatic as you are, yet here I am looking at you.” Louis sighs. “I get it though. I feel like I’m the only one with no plan at all. No plan, no clue, no idea. It’s kinda daunting.”

 

“You have no idea what you want to do?” Harry asks.

 

“No. Everyone thinks I have no ambition. I mean, they’d never say it out loud, but I know what they think. They think I’m carefree Louis who likes a laugh and can’t be serious to save his life. That I haven’t amounted to much so far, and I probably won’t in the future. It’s …”

 

“It’s shit!” Harry finishes, angry on Louis’ behalf.  “It’s bullshit too,”

 

“Well, you don’t know me very well, it might be true.”

 

“Well, I refuse to believe it. Just because you’re facing the void of the future unarmed right now doesn’t mean you’ll always be. And it doesn’t mean their paper armours are better equipment for this fight either.”

 

Louis chuckles softly. “The future as a fight… I quite like that.”

 

“Well, it’s scary and challenging enough to be one, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah… I definitely feel that way. My mum keeps telling me to stop freaking out and that it’ll come to me, or that I can afford a few mistakes, but I just don’t want to disappoint her, you know?”

 

“You won’t, but I understand the fear of failure. I feel it too.”

 

“Then we must promise each other that we won’t fail because soulmate promises are never broken,” Louis declares, holding out his pinkie.

 

Harry links their fingers happily. It’s the easiest promise he’s ever made.  

 

Now

 

Harry is still fuming by the time he gets back to his flat after the interview, feeling both furious and upset, an unhealthy mixture of emotion swirling in his belly. He feels like a bruise, tender and quivering after the interviewer’s aggressive probing.

 

He paces his flat for a bit before abandoning a half prepared cup of tea on his counter and going upstairs to his ensuite. He takes off his shirt, angrily throwing it to the floor of his bedroom from the bathroom’s doorway. It’ll only make him more annoyed when he has to pick it up later, but for now he feels a sickening sense of satisfaction at the mild display of aggression. He does the same with his belt, gritting his teeth when it makes a loud thud as it drops to the floor, then he struggles for a few seconds with his skinny jeans. He almost falls on his arse with his jeans stuck mid-thighs and he sighs loudly, letting himself drop on the toilet seat.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers, head in his hands as he tries his hardest not to start crying.

 

The porcelain of the toilet is cold against the skin of his thigh, the little bit between where his boxer ends and his jeans are stuck, but Harry can’t be bothered to care. Instead, he inhales deeply, focusing on his breathing to try to calm down.

 

He starts kicking his jeans off after a few minutes when he finally feels like he’s back in control, and they go easily this time. He’s about to get back up when his mobile starts ringing.

 

He looks at his jeans absently, eyes fixed on the pocket his phone is hiding in, letting it ring and ring and ring. He already knows it’s not something he wants to deal with right now. It’s probably Jeff wanting to talk about what happened at the interview, wanting to make sure he’s okay and prepared for what’s coming tomorrow. Because Harry isn’t naive enough to think this is the last of it. This interviewer opened a can of worms that they are going to have to deal with and Jeff has been gently trying to push Harry to open up about his love life, about his _mark_ , for months now. No matter how furious he most likely is at the woman who violated his rules and his client, Jeff is going to want to use this opportunity to their advantage, to spin this into some good PR tale.

 

The phone stops ringing for a few seconds before it starts again.

 

Harry should have known that avoiding his manager after the interview and quickly running back home wouldn’t be enough. He should have known there was no escaping this. Still, he gets up and kicks his jeans outside the bathroom and onto his bedroom floor, closing the door on the still ringing cellphone. He’ll deal with this shit later. For now, the only thing he wants is to forget, to clean this whole mess of a day off.

 

Harry moans in relief when the hot water first hits his back and he closes his eyes, trying to chase the images of the life he used to have away.

 

*

 

Once he’s spent so long in the shower that the water has gone completely cold, Harry steps out and dries himself off quickly before walking back into his bedroom fully naked. He avoids his jeans, thankful the phone isn’t still ringing at least, and goes to grab his favourite sweats. They’re a hint too short, exposing his ankles to the world, and they’re so old they’re almost threadbare, but Harry would rather die than throw them away. He forgets the shirt, choosing to move to the kitchen instead to pour himself a glass of red wine. It’s only after he’s drunk his first glass that he walks back upstairs to finally check his missed calls.

 

There are thirteen missed calls and, as predicted, they’re all from Jeff.

 

Harry quickly looks at the time before calling back. It’s starting to get late, but he might as well get rid of the conversation now. The last thing he wants is to start the next day with this hanging over his head. He already knows it’s going to be a rough one without having to discuss soulmates stuff with his fucking manager.

 

“What sort of time do you call this?” Jeff says roughly instead of saying hi. “I’ve been trying to call you for an hour. I was worried.”

 

“I was taking a shower,” Harry replies carefully. “And I’m not a child, you don’t have to micromanage me. Like… I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”

 

“Actually, as your _manager_ , Jeff says, emphasising the word annoyingly in his American accent, “it’s literally my job to manage you.”

 

“Emphasis on the micro.”

 

“Look, I know what happened wasn’t ideal and I know how you feel about soulmate stuff, even if I don’t know why, but we still need to strategise. You have a lot of interviews tomorrow, the album is literally dropping in a week, and this… is going to get traction. It’s already blown up on social media and everyone thinks of you as this lonely moody kid who doesn’t believe in true love.”

 

“Maybe that’s just who I am,” Harry replies stubbornly.

 

“Yeah right, Mr. Romcoms Every Night. Look, all I’m saying is you should be more open to talking about it. And now that she’s open that door, albeit without our consent which she is definitely going to pay for, don’t worry. She’s never interviewing you or any of our other clients ever again… Still, now that she’s open that door, we should take that opportunity to build a softer image for you.”

 

“My image _is_ soft,” Harry argues because it’s true and it is. He’s the guy who plays charity concerts and donates his hair, who loves children and spreading positive messages. He likes to think of himself as a rock star, but truth be told, he’s a bit too gentle for it. He can’t see why he’d need to go ever _softer._ He suspects what Jeff actually means is _romantic._ He wants Harry’s image to be more romantic, to portray him as the hopeful waiting to meet _the one,_ the kind of person his fan base can relate to.

 

Except Harry has met the one, and the last person he wants to talk to about it is Jeff.

 

They’re good friends, of course, and Jeff has always taken good care of him and his career… but this is beyond personal and the mere thought of having to explain why he doesn’t want to share this part of him with the world makes him want to puke. He can feel the bile coming up as they’re talking.  

 

“H-” Jeff starts and he stops when Harry sighs.

 

“I don’t want to talk about my soulmark, okay? We’ve agreed when you signed me that you’d never force me to do so. I trusted you with that. I know I’m just business for you, but I thought we were supposed to be friends too?” Harry says, feeling himself getting heated as he starts pacing in his room.

 

“Of course, we are. We’re friends! And I’d never go back on my promise or force you, okay? We’re a team, but ultimately this is your decision. I just sincerely think that it could help make you more relatable if you shared your…” Jeff hesitates for a second and Harry stops breathing, fearing whatever is going to come next. “If you shared your insecurities about meeting the one. I was the same before Glenne! I used to stare at the _stranger_ on my wrist and feel sick! I know it sounds pathetic, but I swear I did! So many people feel like that. I know you’re a private person and your fans respect that, but I really think they’d love to hear about that part of your life. That’s all.”

 

“Well, we’ve talked about this and I already said no.”

 

“Alright. If it’s no, then it’s no. I think it could help album sales but -”

 

“My album sales are fine.”

 

“Fine,” Jeff sighs. “If someone mentions the interview you can just reiterate your ‘my private life is private’ position.”

 

“I will,” Harry replies stubbornly.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow okay? The car will pick you up at 5:30.”

 

Harry agrees, then hangs up. He’s about to put his phone away and get back to the kitchen to grab a second glass of wine when he’s hit with the uncontrollable urge to check if Jeff is right and people really think he’s some sort of sad kid.

 

He knows it would be a mistake to look. Googling one’s self is never a good idea. It’s one of the first rules of fame he’s learned and he learned it the hard way. Still, he feels like a sad kid right now. He’s longing and he’s hurting, and there is a part of him that needs to know how many people can see right through him.

 

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of people.

 

Then

 

“The rebellious child is back,” his mother deadpans once he enters the kitchen after letting Louis go back home, not even bothering to look up from her newspaper.

 

“Rebellious? Me?” Harry replies, going straight to the fridge and grabbing some orange juice.

 

“Rumours on the streets are that you’ve spent the better part of the early morning cuddling some strange boy in the park,” she continues, still not looking at him.

 

“I’d hardly call what we were doing cuddling,” Harry says, pensive,  before taking a gulp of juice straight from the container.

 

“Oh, Harry, I wish you’d use a glass,” Anne says, turning the page.

 

Harry shrugs before bending down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Sorry?” he mumbles against her skin.

 

“So you don’t deny it?”

 

“That I didn’t use a glass?” Harry asks, purposefully obtuse as he turns to grab a mug from the cabinet. It’s his favourite and has a picture of the family cat Dusty on it. “I think there’s no point in me denying, since you saw everything.”

 

“I mean you spending the night gallivanting with a boy?” she adds pointedly.

 

“Ah.”

 

“Well?” Anne demands, finally deigning to look at him. “Further intel from your sister reveals that this boy is your soulmate.”

 

“Gemma said that?”

 

“Indeed. Is it true, Harry?” Anne asks, voice soft and her eyes even softer.

 

Harry smiles shyly, shrugging before handing out his hand so she can see for herself, the word _longing_ a permanent fixture on his wrist ever since Louis kissed him goodbye.

 

“Oh, honey!” Anne exclaims, squeezing his hand tightly.

 

“He’s really wonderful mum,” Harry admits in a whisper, sitting down next to her the table.

 

“Yeah?” Anne prompts.

 

“Yeah,” he nods, stealing a bite of her toast from her plate. “I still can’t believe I met him.”

 

“Is that all you’re going to give me?”

 

Harry munches on the toast, thinking of the way Louis held his hand on the way back to the house, his thumb rubbing softly against Harry’s skin. He thinks back to the way Louis hugged him so tight before leaving, his arms wrapped around Harry’s waist and his head buried in Harry’s neck. He thinks back to the way he asked permission before kissing him, voice raspier than ever before, his hands burying themselves into Harry’s curls. He thinks back to the way Louis pushed him softly against Bertha, the car cold against the small of his back, but his body warm and tingling from Louis’ hands on him. He thinks back to Louis swearing under his breath when they finally stopped kissing, to the hunger in his eyes, to the way he leaned in for more, unwilling to say goodbye yet.

 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “That’s all I’m going to give you for now.”

 

Now

 

Harry blinks when his phone starts ringing, a picture of his sister flashing on the screen. He shakes his head, almost surprised to find himself in the living room now, his bottle of wine practically empty. His eyes hurt from staring at his screen too long and he feels even worse than he did before, depressed by the hundreds of different opinions of him he’s been subjected too. They don’t know him, not really, and there’s a big part of him that likes it that way, while the other wants to set the record straight.

 

Harry considers not answering the phone for a moment, but even though she’ll probably grill him about the interview, talking to his sister usually makes him automatically feel better. And god knows he needs a friendly hand to hold, right now.

 

“Hey,” he says tiredly as he answers the phone, eyeing the wine bottle, tempted to finish it off.

 

“Hey,” Gemma replies, voice careful.

 

She knows. She’s seen it already, he’s sure of it.

 

“You’re calling late,” Harry comments casually.

 

“Yeah, well, we haven’t talked in a while and I wanted to see how you were, you know?”

 

“It’s promo season,” he replies matter-of-factly. “I’m busy and I’m tired.”

 

“Are you nervous about the album dropping? The dreaded second album…” she says ominously.

 

Harry snorts. “When you put it like that….” he mocks. “I don’t know. I’m happy with it, and the single was well received, so…” He shrugs, even though he knows she can’t see him. “I’ve done my job, you know? I made an album I’m proud of and that’s all that matters.”

 

“Good boy,” Gemma teases.

 

“I kinda want the week to be over, to be honest,” Harry admits, glad he’s escaping the interrogation he was expecting. “Like… just let me put it out, you know? I just want people to hear it.”

 

“They’re going to love it,” Gemma insists. “And if they don’t…. Fuck them!” she adds with a laugh. She pauses for a second before taking a deep breath. “Hum, listen,” she continues  carefully and Harry should have known he wouldn’t get away with it, “I saw the interview.” She changes the topic carefully, but pointedly, and if she were here right now, Harry knows she’d be staring at him straight on, unafraid to attempt to intimidate him into facing the uncomfortable topic.

 

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, his fingers tightly locked around his phone, his grip tight and awkward. “So did the whole world,” he replies, trying to keep his tone neutral.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“About what?” Harry demands sarcastically, anger at the tip of his tongue. “About the fact that most people think I’m some pathetic, sad loner? About the fact that the whole world still expects a fairy tale ending for me, despite it, and they can’t wait to peep on it like creeps? About the fact that more than half of my fanbase wants that fairy tale ending to include them? Or do you want to talk about the fact that my actual soulmate hates me?”

 

“Come on, Harry,” Gemma says with a sigh. “Louis doesn’t hate you. Just because things got complicated with your career doesn’t mean -”

 

“Fine, we can’t know for sure if he does, but trust me, he was pretty clear on the subject when he left and -”

 

Gemma groans loudly through the phone, interrupting Harry’s panicked rant. “That was years ago. And you _could_ know how he feels, if you weren’t such a coward.”

 

“I’m not afraid,” Harry replies in a small voice, but the truth is, he is. He’s terrified. It would be so easy for him to know, to know every thoughts and feelings passing through Louis’s brain. He looks down at his wrist, at the expensive watch that covers it carefully, then he closes his eyes, trying his hardest not to cry.

 

Gemma is right. He is a coward. He can’t bear the thought of having every single one of his fears confirmed the minute he looks at the word on his wrist, can’t bear the thought of reading Louis’ _betrayalhurtdisappointmentanger_ when he can already feel it seeping through his skin.

 

“Well,” Gemma says angrily, “if that lie gets you through the day.”

 

“Was there anything you wanted? Because it’s quite a busy time, right now. I have to be up at four tomorrow morning. I’m hitting like…. Five radio stations in one day? Performing at two of them? And they’re all gonna be hassling me about this soulmark bullshit because one fucking lady can’t understand the concept of blocked questions,” Harry replies, each word like a deadly bullet.

 

There’s a moment of a silence where only Harry’s laboured breathing can be heard through the line and, for a second there, Harry thinks Gemma hung up on him. He couldn’t blame her for it exactly. He’s being a real asshole about this, but he can’t help himself. The interview left him more rattled than he thought and he knows it’s childish to try to blame his bad mood on it, but she really did ruin his day.

 

He can’t stop thinking about Louis. And he hates her a little for bringing all of those feelings back to the surface.

 

Harry sighs loudly before putting the phone down on his coffee table for a second, slipping his fingers over his face and through his hair. He can’t do this.

 

He grabs the phone again after a moment.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to his sister, grateful that she’s still on the line. “I’m being a complete jerk, right now.”

 

“You’re upset,” Gemma replies softly, understandingly, and Harry truly is lucky for the people in his life who never allowed him to become one of those self-important celebrities who think their lives and emotions are more important than the rest of the human race. While, simultaneously, still being there for him when the particularities of his life bring him different challenges.

 

“How did you guess?” he mumbles sarcastically.

 

Gemma sighs. “Hey, do you want me to come over? We can watch Friends and cuddle or something?”

 

Harry wants to say yes, more than anything. He wants to be cuddled and pretend like today didn’t happen and that tomorrow won’t come.

 

“It’s late,” he says sadly instead. “You have work in the morning… Fuck, _I_ have work in the morning.” He lets himself fall back into the sofa, curling into a little ball.

 

“You love your job,” Gemma reminds him kindly and he does need to hear it once in a while, when he’s deeply exhausted at the end of the day, or when loneliness settles in uncomfortably in his belly and refuses to leave…. Or when he remembers the sacrifices he made to get here and the fact that he’s not always sure it was worth it.

 

Still, there is something magical about the power of making money from his art, of having his own words sung back to him desperately by an entire fanbase who _loveslovesloves_ him. There’s something incredible about the energy he gets from performing, the buzzing crawling through him, the frantic spark that animates him every single time he walks on stage. It’s precious. It’s priceless. It’s phenomenal.

 

It cost him everything.

 

Then

 

It doesn’t take very long for Thursdays to become Harry’s favourite day of the week. On Thursday, Harry not only finishes classes early, but he doesn’t have work afterwards. More importantly, Louis finishes his classes even earlier which means that, by the time Harry gets back home after English, if traffic hasn’t been too much of a pain, Bertha is parked in front of his house and there’s a Louis inside drinking tea with his mum.

 

That particular week, Harry gets back home a little later than usual after a lengthy discussion with his teacher over an upcoming essay. His mother’s car is nowhere in sight, but Bertha stands proudly in front of the house, as old as ever, but offering a bright spot of colour to the otherwise very boring street Harry grew up on. He smiles, stroking the hood fondly on his way to the door, excited to get to spend some time with Louis.

 

He usually manages to show up every few weekends as well, when Harry doesn’t grab the train to Doncaster to help him babysit his sisters, but it’s been a few weeks since their schedule has managed to line up properly. Between Louis’ A-Levels, Harry’s studies, and both of their part-time jobs, not to mention Louis taking care of his siblings, it’s a miracle their schedules even line up some of the time. The writing on Harry’s wrist switches mostly between _longing_ and _fondness_ these days, every single moment they manage to steal together precious and important.

 

When they can’t see each other, they text and call, doing homework together through the phone or dreaming of the life they’ll have together in London once Harry is done with school and ready to go to uni. They decorate their hypothetical flat and plan a hypothetical wedding, tentatively talking about how many kids they want in shy hushed voices. Harry has been looking forward to this his whole life and it feels overwhelming to think that it’s almost there now, so close he can touch it. Just a few years left and he’ll have everything he wants with the person the great cosmos thinks is made for him.

 

In the meantime, Harry pines and yearns and longs, each day until he can see Louis again longer than the next, and each weekend where they can’t visit each other another disappointment.

 

Thursdays though… Thursdays are untouchable.

 

Neither of them has ever cancelled Thursday night and they never will, Harry figures. It’s their date night, an evening that belongs to them and them alone, a moment they can share through the utter chaos of their busy lives. It doesn’t matter if date night doesn’t always involve a date, it’s theirs even if they’re only doing homework together or watching the Great British Bake Off while cuddling with Dusty.

 

The house is eerily quiet when Harry steps in, his mother gone god knows where and his sister probably still at school exhausting herself over papers and exams. He calls Louis’ name, frowning a little when there is no answer.

 

Still, he almost tripped over Louis’ shoes on his way in so he couldn’t have gone very far. Harry takes off his converses quickly, putting them away neatly before grabbing Louis’ shoes and doing the same with them. Then, he makes his way to the stairs to get up to his bedroom, hoping to find his soulmate hidden there.

 

He smiles when he gets to the door a few seconds later, the sight of Louis sleeping soundly on his bed too precious for him not to. He creeps in quickly, dropping his school bag next to the bed before climbing in. He cringes a little when his zipper makes a loud noise, but he quickly manages to grab his books without waking Louis up. He opens the novel they are studying, his copy so old and battered that he has to move it carefully to make sure the spine doesn’t break, then he grabs a pen to continue to annotate it.

 

He’s only a few more pages in when Louis starts stirring. Harry stops writing, eyes wide and his pen only a few inches away from the page, but Louis doesn’t wake. He shuffles a little around, seeking Harry’s warmth and cuddling up to him, resting his head against Harry’s stomach.Harry giggles as quietly as possible, dropping his book and pen on the floor in favour of petting Louis’ hair, feeling finally settled.

 

*

 

Harry only realises he’s fallen asleep when Louis wakes him up, pressing kisses to his face and whispering “Harold” in an ominous tone in his ears.

 

“What?” Harry mumbles, tightening his hold on Louis’ hips. They moved in their sleep, their bodies now closer than before, half of Louis’ over Harry’s and their legs tangled together.

 

“Wake up, please,” Louis demands excitedly before kissing him behind his ear. It tickles and Harry scrunches his nose, eyes still closed as he tries to pretend to still be asleep. “I can’t come this weekend,” Louis continues, insistent and determined, “And I don’t want to waste our date night sleeping. Not matter how sleepy we are.”

 

Harry hums, the sound morphing into a laugh when Louis starts kissing him along his jaw, each kiss louder than the one before.

 

“Please, light of my life, half of my soul, I’m hungry and I want to take you out.”

 

Harry snorts, dragging Louis fully on top of him and slipping his hands underneath his t-shirt, fingers roaming freely against the softness of Louis’ lower back. “Take me out where? Mcdonalds?”

 

“Well,” Louis huffs, rolling his eyes, “if you don’t want to come…” he trails off, pretending to be offended. He lets a second pass before trying to get off the bed, struggling against Harry’s tight hold over his body.

 

“Nahh. I want to come.I want you to buy me a milkshake.”

 

“Chocolate?” Louis asks even though Harry knows he knows the answer.

 

“Yes, but you’ve got to take a vanilla one in case I overdose on the chocolate and I need to switch with you,” Harry replies, dragging his hands up to tangle them into Louis’ hair and rubbing their nose together teasingly.

 

“God, you’re demanding,” Louis whispers against his lips and after a few months of them discovering each other, he can tell it’s softness rather than annoyance in his voice. He can’t see his wrist right now, but Harry can easily image it still reads _fondness_ , as it so frequently does these days. It’s on his wrist so often it has become Harry’s favourite word.

 

One night, unable to sleep, Harry had looked up the proper definition of fond on Merriam-Webster and now, whenever it shows up on his wrist again, warmth spreads in his belly and he has to actively try not to blush as he mentally reviews the different definitions.

 

_Prizing highly. Having an affection or liking. Foolishly tender. Affectionate, loving. Cherished with great affection._

 

Every definition is more devastating than the last, a powerful weapon against Harry’s fragile heart, making it beat frighteningly fast whenever he notices the word delicately written on his wrist.

 

Louis is about to finally kiss him when Harry adds, just to be annoying, “I want chicken nuggets too.”

 

Louis sighs, their forehead pressed together. “Yes, I know.”

 

“And fries. And a cheeseburger.”

 

“Only if you eat my pickles,” Louis replies before finally kissing him.

 

Harry tries not to smile through the kiss, but he can’t help it and Louis starts laughing, breaking them apart.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry says, still smiling.

 

“Come on, out with it.”

 

“Nothing,” Harry insists. “I’ll always eat your pickles. I promise.”

 

Now

 

The next morning comes by way too fast. Harry blinks and suddenly he has to be up, the insistent knocking on his front door both alarming and disorienting.

 

He moans, accidentally kicking the wine bottle when he gets up from the sofa and he whines when it clangs loudly on the floor. He’s about to pick it up when the knocking starts again accompanied by shouting.

 

“You better be showered and dressed H,” Jeff says threateningly and Harry cringes, looking down at his dishevelled appearance.

 

“Okay,” he whispers to himself, grabbing the bottle and his phone, “this is bad.”

 

He walks to his kitchen, looking for a place to hide the empty bottle before shrugging and putting it in the fridge. Then, he tries opening his phone, pouting softly when he realises it’s out of battery. At least it explains why his alarm never went off, Harry thinks as he struggles for a second with his cable to charge it.

 

Jeff keeps banging on the door and Harry wrinkles his nose at the thought of having to deal with that. He scratches his naked belly, frowning when Jeff starts yelling through the door.

 

“We are going to be late,” he warns, knowing how appalling of a thought it is for Harry. “And if you don’t open in the next five seconds, I’m going to use my spare key,” he then threatens. “I know you hate when I do that Mr. Private Freak.”

 

Harry sighs again, narrowing his eyes before slowly making his way to the front door.

 

“Stop giving me literal nicknames, it’s really annoying,” he says when he finally opens the door. “And there’s nothing wrong with me wanting privacy, not to mention that key is meant to be used for emergencies only.”

 

“You’re not dressed!” Jeff exclaims in a panicked voice, ignoring Harry’s rebut. He takes a step forwards, pushing Harry out of his way and entering the house. “You need to take a shower. Quickly. If we want to make it to the interview in time we need to leave in thirty minutes so you better make yourself presentable in that time.”

 

“Of course,” Harry replies in a smaller voice, crushed under the weight of regret.

 

He should never have let his emotions get the better of him. He’s made it a rule for himself to never drink the night before a performance, or an interview, and the mere fact that he willingly broke it is proof that he wasn’t in his right mind.

 

It’s not like he went completely crazy and there’s enough time for him to get ready, he knows, but the shame of his bad choice still creeps up on him unexpectedly under the scrutiny of his manager.

 

He makes it back to the kitchen fully ready with six minutes to spare, a miraculously feat if anyone asks Harry. Still, Jeff doesn’t seem to agree and he’s still frowning, resting against Harry’s counter when he walks back into the kitchen.

 

“Here,” he says, pushing a black cup of coffee towards Harry and not looking up from his phone. “I packed you a muffin to eat on the way there, we don’t have time for anything else. Besides, I assume you’re still a bit hungover so you’re probably not hungry yet,” he adds just to chastise him.

 

“I’m okay,” Harry replies, “I didn’t drink that much.”

 

Jeff sighs, finally putting his phone away. “What’s going on?” he asks, his gaze serious and steady. “This isn’t like you to be so unprepared. I know the interview rattled you yesterday, but is there something else going on? I need you to tell me if there is.”

 

Harry gulps, blinking rapidly to avoid the tears that surprisingly come to his eyes. He could tell Jeff the truth, he supposes. He’s a friend before an employee and he’d understand, maybe. Still, the weight of Harry’s mistakes, of his loss, is so heavy, he can’t possibly say anything. What will Jeff think? What will the world think? If they knew the truth? If they knew he’s one of those people who is too fucked up to keep his other half, one of those people who couldn’t maintain a relationship literally designed by the universe itself…

 

No, he can’t ever tell. He’d lose everything he has left, this career he sacrificed everything for, and since it’s the one thing he still has to his name, Harry isn’t ready for that.

 

“No,” Harry lies, cagey and defensive. “It’s fine. You know I’m sensitive about this stuff.”

 

“Soulmate stuff?” Jeff insists, eyes piercing. He plays a little with the cord of Harry’s phone, on the verge of unplugging it before stopping himself every time.

 

“Shouldn’t we go? I thought we were late?”

 

“You’re right,” Jeff replies, seeming to snap out of it suddenly. He unplugs Harry’s phone, handing him both the phone and the cable. “You can finish charging that in my car.”

 

“Your car? I thought you were calling a car service.”

 

“I need to practice driving on the other side of the road,” Jeff explains nonsensically.

 

“Why would you need to practice that?”

 

“I’m always in London because of you and I’m terribly shit at it.”

 

“That’s why you call a car service?”

 

Jeff ignores him, pretending not to hear as he walks away.

 

“Great, so I’m risking my life to get to this interview,” Harry sighs, grabbing a light jacket. He’s wearing a long sleeves shirt so he doesn’t necessarily needs it, but still. One can never be too prudent. “Besides, you don’t even know London that well, we’ll only end up getting lost.”

 

“No, that’s why you’re my copilot.”

 

“I was hoping to catch a bit more sleep before -”

 

“Oh no, I don’t think so. We need to prep for the interviews and I need you to _not_ look half asleep when you walk in. Some of them are filmed, remember?

 

“It’s at six in the morning, everyone watching is going to be half asleep too,” Harry whines, locking his house before joining Jeff in the car.

 

“Celebrities don’t look half asleep,” Jeff replies once they’re on the road.

 

“I didn’t think you heard me,” Harry admits, fiddling with the cable of his phone for a second before he manages to plug it. He has a text from Gemma wishing him luck and one from his mother which is just a sparkly pink heart emoji. He smiles at his phone, sending his thanks - and a few hearts too- back.

 

“I hear everything, that’s literally my job,” Jeff says, swirling dangerously.

 

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispers before shaking his head. “You know, I don’t think you’re fully aware of what your job actually entails because that was some bullshit you just gave me and -” Harry gasps, grabbing Jeff’s arm. “Can you please concentrate on the road!”

 

“I’m fully concentrated. Or at least I would be if you stopped shitting on my hard work. Honestly, a number one single, a number one album, multiple Grammy noms, one Grammy win and you still question me. It’s kinda rude H.”

 

“You do know I’m still the one writing the songs, right?” Harry replies teasingly, settling into the comfortable banter, mentally preparing himself for the interview and putting himself in the mood.

 

He hasn’t forgotten Louis, of course not, but if he can push thoughts of him away for a few days, he might survive this promo cycle after all.

 

He’s actually doing a good job of convincing himself he’s in a good mood and ready for radio when Jeff ruins everything.

 

Then

 

They move to London in August, a few weeks before Harry starts university, on a ridiculously hot day. Louis’ hair is sticking up atrociously, his forehead wet with sweat and his tank top drenched as he grabs boxes after boxes, making his way through Mrs. Flynn’s antique shop to reach the creaky staircase at the back who leads to their brand new flat.

 

Well, brand new is a bit of an oversell considering the house is falling apart, but it’s theirs, for now, a new home just for the two of them, somewhere they can mold into Harry and Louis’ world, whatever that means.

 

“Are you just gonna stand there and stare at the shop or are you gonna come and help me?” Louis calls from the door, biceps bulging under the strain of what Harry thinks is one of five boxes of his books.

 

“I’m admiring the architecture,” Harry replies teasingly with a flirty wink, gesturing crudely at Louis’ bum.

 

Mrs. Flynn clears her throat loudly to his left and Harry blushes when he notices her. Louis disappears into the shop, leaving only the sound of his laughter behind to help Harry face their new landlady. And his soulmate’s new boss. Fuck.

 

“You boys won’t be any trouble now, won’t you?” she asks Harry, arms folded severely across her chest, still managing to look down on him through her thick glasses even though she is several inches shorter than him.

 

“Of course not, Mrs. Flynn,” Harry replies sincerely before offering her his most disarming smile. Extra dimples on top.

 

She hums. “Now, when I interviewed your charming young man for the job, he seemed enthused and responsible. I hope that was not a misconception.”

 

“No, Mrs. Flynn. Louis is a very dedicated worker. He’s a bit of a joker,” Harry admits dreamily, thinking back to the week before when they pranked Stan so intensely he still hasn’t texted either of them back. “But he knows when to be serious! And he’s very excited to be working in your shop. He still doesn’t know what to study yet, you know? Or if he’s even gonna study. I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think that worries him. A lot.  And working, and especially working with people, will really help him not stress out as much… Like… kinda get him out of his head, you know?” Harry blushes when he realises he’s been babbling. “I mean… I …”

 

“Don’t worry darling,” Mrs. Flynn says, brushing a tender finger against his cheek, “your boy will find his way. So will you.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, easily imaging a near future where they’ll have everything figured out. Him with an album on the way and Louis achieving his dream too.

 

*

 

“What took you so long?” Louis complains, sprawled out on the floor between boxes.

 

Harry smiles, putting down the last two next to Louis’ head before sitting down in front of him.

 

“I was just assuring Mrs. Flynn we will be model tenants and you’ll be a model employee.”

 

“I will be a model everything,” Louis declares, rubbing the toned skin of his stomach with a teasing finger under his tank top. “You on the other hand… Well, I don’t know if you’ll be able to control your urges,” he adds, looking down pointedly at where the words _hot_ and _delectable_ keeps flickering on his wrist.

 

Harry licks his lower lips before prowling, taking his shoes off then starting to crawl over Louis’ body until they are eye to eye, both of them smirking.

 

“Poor Mrs. Flynn,” Harry whispers against Louis’ lips in a raspy voice. “She’s going to have to deal with all my urges,” he adds, sneaking a hand under Louis’ top and letting his head drop to Louis’ neck, biting softly at the skin there.

 

Louis giggles in response. “Stop it, I stink.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

Now

 

“So,” Jeff says when they finally reach the radio station. He turns the car off but doesn’t exit, instead choosing to turn to face Harry.

 

That can’t be good.

 

“So,” Harry repeats, suspicious without meaning to be.

 

“We need to talk about your soulmark,” Jeff declares, pointing at Harry’s watch.

 

“Are you kidding me,” Harry mumbles, anger flaring up. “I told you, multiple times, that -”

 

“I know. You refuse to discuss it. It’s private. But here’s the thing Harry,” Jeff says and that’s how he knows it’s serious, with the way he says Harry’s full name instead of the casual H most people on his team use, “people want to hear about it. And after what happened yesterday, interviewers are going to mention it.”

 

“Is this groundhog day?” Harry snaps, unbuckling his seat belt.

 

“What?”

 

“Because I swear we just had this conversation a few hours ago and I thought I’d made myself pretty clear!” he continues angrily, getting out of the car and closing the door with an aggressive movement.

 

“I guess not,” he mumbles to himself before shaking his head and trying to calm down.

 

He inhales deeply, relaxing his face into a peaceful expression for the photographers that have assembled in front of the station, despite the fact he feels a lot like screaming and a bit like crying too.

 

He can do this.

 

*

 

By the time the interview starts, Harry can almost believe it. The interviewer is like a breath of fresh air, a new host called Bonnie who makes him laugh in the first few seconds of the broadcast and who automatically puts him at ease.

 

He even manages to ignore Jeff glaring at him from the corner of the room, cross-armed and hidden from the cameras as he leans angrily against the wall. If one person can lean in such a manner, Harry thinks. He glances back at Jeff while the song ends, grimacing at the sight. Yes, that’s definitely an angry lean.

 

“That was Slow Hands by Niall Horan,” Bonnie declares into the microphone as the song fades away. “How much are we loving this record?” she says, looking around the room.

 

“Love it!” Harry replies enthusiastically. “I listen to it all the time at the gym.”

 

“You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else not included in those categories, Harry Styles likes a bit of Horan at the gym.”

 

Harry laughs at the way she says it like it’s news, happy to be discussing his music taste, rather than his personal life.

 

“S’true!” he confirms, angling himself away from Jeff’s gloomy figure. He wants to be enjoying this, he wants to forget everything and anything else.

 

“Speaking of music,” Bonnie says slowly, “you have a brand new record coming? How exciting is that?”

 

“I like to think it’s very exciting, but I don’t know how everyone else is feeling about it yet.”

 

“Well, we are definitely excited about it. I personally have a little countdown on my phone for it. I just can’t wait for Friday. I mean, I still listen to that first record over and over again. It’s one of my favourites.”

 

Harry giggles, blushing a little at the compliment. “Thanks. Thank you for saying that. Really.”

 

“It’s true!” Bonnie insists.

 

“I’m really flattered,” Harry replies, bowing his head a little. “And I hope you’ll like the new material. I’m really proud of it, so.”

 

“We’ll that’s good. That’s always the most important thing, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, as long as I’ve made a record that I like listening to… I’m happy.”

 

“Good for Harry. Listen, can you talk to us a little about the process of making it? I mean, the second album after such success with the first… That must have felt a bit daunting?”

 

“Hummm,” Harry pauses, trying to think of a coherent way to articulate how it felt, without revealing too much. “There’s added pressure, for sure, but I think of that as a good thing? People got to know me a bit through the first album and now they get to know me a bit more through this one…”

 

“Was it important for you to recreate your sound? Stay faithful to the first album? Or was it more of a question of redefining your sound and doing new things?”

 

Harry laughs a little. “Well, I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily one way or the other if I’m honest. I think, as an artist, as a human really, growth and change are normal. And that’s gonna be reflected through your art. I think it would be troubling a little if my work didn’t evolve at all?”

 

“Yeah, I can definitely agree with that.”

 

“Right?” Harry can’t help demanding validation before continuing. “I mean, obviously I still want the work to be me and I’m not one for experimenting and going wild just for the sake of it, you know? It’s still me, just… another side of me, another slice of my life.”

 

“That makes sense,” Bonnie agrees, giving him a big smile. “What about inspiration? Is there anything, anyone, that inspired you a lot this time around? Musically or lyrically?”

 

“Hummm. Well, I read a lot of poetry?” Harry admits and he always feels a little weird sharing his readings with the world, always scared people will see through him if he does. “Not everyone knows, but I was actually doing an English degree when I first got signed.”

 

“Really? Is that something you’d want to finish eventually?”

 

“Humm. Yeah, yeah. Definitely at some point. When I’m not so busy with recording and tours, I’d like to.”

 

“So, would you say your readings inspire you more than your real life?”

 

“Oh uh… Not… Not necessarily? I think lyrics are just poems put to music, you know? So in terms of structure, I’m really interested in poetry and I draw a lot of inspiration from writers I admire.”

 

Bonnie hums pensively before looking down on her sheet. She looks back up, quickly sharing a look with someone behind Harry.

 

“What about the things that inspire you in your personal life?” she insists, looking a little uncomfortable.

 

Harry tries not to frown, turning around slightly to look back at Jeff…

 

… who is blatantly ignoring him and texting who knows who.

 

“Well, you know,” he replies, thinking of ways to swerve around this. “All sorts of things and all sorts of people inspire me. Stories that happen to the people around me and things that happen to me too… It’s not always entirely literal, you know? And I don’t like saying exactly what songs are about anyway… Some of my favourite songs are songs that I made a personal connection with, even though they might not have been about what I was projecting into them. I like giving my audience that freedom.”

 

Harry says the last sentence firmly, clearly indicating he’s done with the subject. Bonnie, thankfully, seems to get the message and moves along.

 

When they get back to the car to grab a quick lunch before Harry’s next interview, Jeff is suspiciously silent, not rambling as usual about Harry’s talking points or the target audience of the next show.

 

“Did you tell her to ask that question?” Harry asks after a while.

 

“What question?” Jeff asks absently.

 

“You know what question.”

 

“Don’t be so paranoid Harry,” Jeff replies with a loud sigh. “Interviewers want to know about what inspired the music, it’s not rocket science. She didn’t even ask any soulmate stuff, you should be happy.”

 

Harry bites his lower lip, still feeling a bit uncomfortable with what happened.

 

Except, Jeff is right and he can’t exactly complain.

 

Then

 

Harry’s laughing so hard he thinks he might pee in his pants. He’s definitely about to fall off the old chest he’s sitting on top of, slapping his knee like an old man, as Louis would say.

 

“What about this one?” Harry asks when he’s finally back in control, pointing to a dusty sofa further away in the shop.

 

Louis stops filing receipts, squinting at the furniture. “The sofa? Or the lamp on top of it?" he asks.

 

“The sofa,” Harry declares, straightening himself up on the chest, ready to hear another of Louis’ elaborate fabrication.

 

It’s their favourite game to play. Harry will sit in the shop for hours while doing some readings, or writing some new songs, taking a break once in awhile to listen to Louis’ crazy stories about the various antiques Mrs. Flynn sells.

 

“Well, it obviously belonged to Mr. Pretotinos,” Louis declares, rolling his eyes like Harry should have known all along.

 

Harry snorts. “Yes, of course. That sounds real.”

 

“Don’t be rude Harold!” Louis scolds, throwing a pen at Harry’s head.

 

“Are you messing up the receipts Louis?” Mrs. Flynn calls from the back store and Louis blushes a bit.

 

“No, Mrs. Flynn! I just dropped a pen, that’s all.”

 

“Yeah, dropped,” Harry replies, rubbing his forehead exaggeratedly.

 

“Awww, poor baby,” Louis whines. “Did I hurt your head?” he asks, leaving the front desk and making his way to the chest. “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

 

“Always,” Harry says with a cheeky grin, fiddling with the sleeve of Louis’ shirt.

 

“I think you’re faking to get kisses,” Louis whispers, still pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 

Harry hums thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he admits, dragging Louis down to kiss him properly.

 

They make out for a while, a bit too heated for Wednesday afternoon in the shop, until Harry starts laying down, dragging Louis with him. Except the chest isn’t wide enough for them both and they tumble to the ground roughly, limbs tangled together.

 

“Louis?” Mrs. Flynn calls loudly, voice much closer now.

 

“Oooops,” Louis whispers against Harry’s lips, eyes crinkling as he tries not to laugh. “It’s fine, Mrs. Flynn!!” he calls loudly, voice high-pitched in a hint of panic.

 

“Did you drop something?” she asks threateningly.

 

“Just myself,” Louis replies jokingly. “I fell. It’s fine though, I can manage. I’m just a bit clumsy today,” he explains, wincing when her feet appear in their line of vision.

 

“Hi Mrs. Flynn,” Harry says cheekily, waving at her slowly, his other hand still holding Louis’ bum.

 

“I see. I should have known you were back from uni already. He never gets into this much trouble when you’re not there Harry,” she says, but she doesn’t sound properly angry.

 

“Young love,” Harry explains, kissing Louis’ cheek loudly.

 

“Indeed. Well, I suppose I can’t exactly hold it against you. I was the same when I first met Roger. Please try not to hurt any of the antique though,” she says, stroking the chest carefully, before turning back around to continue the inventory.  “And don’t kiss in front of customers,” she adds just as she’s leaving the main part of the store. “I don’t ask for much really”

 

“You’re gonna get fired,” Harry says with a sigh.

 

“We’re gonna get evicted,” Louis replies and they both share a look before starting to laugh.

 

“Tell me about Mr. Prepotinos,” Harry demands, passing a hand through his ever growing hair, his curls getting wilder every day as their first year in London gets closer to being over. He rests his head on his arm, relaxing on the floor with Louis still on top of him.

 

“It was Mr. Pretotinos,” Louis comments, squirming a bit on top of Harry’s thighs.

 

Harry frowns, trying to remember what Louis made up earlier. He wrinkles his nose. “Are you sure?”

 

“No,” Louis admits with a laugh. “Not that it matters. It was Mr. Pretotinos or Prepotinos or Prepopinos or something else ridiculous because truth it, it wasn’t his real name.”

 

“No!” Harry replies, pretending to be shocked.

 

“No. It was a stage name. He was a magician back in the 50s. Very popular too. His career declined in the end, but… He was a great artist. And that was his good luck sofa.”

 

“You talk so much shit,” Harry says lovingly, happy to listen to Louis make up silly stories for hours.

 

“It’s true!!! He couldn’t perform without a good nap in his good luck sofa. This item is priceless. It brought him all the confidence he needed to perform. Of course, that meant he had to carry it everywhere so it made touring a bit complex… But he managed.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes!” Louis nods. “Actually, it’s also what led to his downfall.”

 

“Oh no.”

 

“Indeed. You see, a few years ago Mr. Pre-nevermind-what-the-rest-is got asked to perform a final show. He was pretty old and he’d been retired for ages, but he was flattered to be asked so he said yes. Except, carrying his sofa wasn’t as easy as before and the movers he hired to do it weren’t treating it with the respect a good luck sofa deserves! So he took their place and tried to drag it down the stairs himself. He loved it too much, you know? That was his demise in the end.”

 

“What happened?” Harry asks.

 

“Well he fell down the stairs and the sofa squashed him. Like a bug.”

 

He claps his hands together loudly to illustrate his point. Harry smiles, fascinated by the way Louis’ hands move while he talks, the way his eyes sparkles while he invents stories after stories to entertain them both. Maybe this is what love feels like, Harry figures, being at peace with this boy, content to let himself be lulled by the sound of his voice and the power of his words, no matter how silly they are.

 

“Do the lamp now,” Harry demands gently, stroking Louis’ hips.   

 

“Well, that’s a funny story too…”

 

Now

 

Harry begins the third interview of the day a bit fidgety. The second one was quick and painless, but he’s still feeling all over the place, nervously fiddling with the band of his watch every time he catches sight of the interviewer’s soulmark.

 

It’s a man this time, the first one of the day, and he’s clearly pushy, asking Harry grilling questions after grilling questions.

 

“What about soulmarks?” he asks after the first ten minutes have passed like he decided to not be one hundred percent of a dickhead for a bit, but then he couldn’t help himself.

 

“What about them?” Harry asks with a nervous laugh. This has to come from Jeff, he thinks angrily.

 

“Well, you’ve been asked about yours recently, but you haven’t been very forthcoming. Are you against the system? Are you one of those hippies who believe in finding the one themselves?”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s one of the theories,” the interviewer explains with a laugh, clearly thinking it’s a big fat joke.

 

“Theories?” Harry repeats faintly.

 

“Yeah, we were looking them up earlier before you came in. It’s kind of the big buzz at the moment. A lot of people are calling you the spokesperson for unmatched celebrities who want privacy, did you know that?”

 

“Hummm. No actually. I’ve never heard that before.”

 

“Well, they are. With the way you’ve kept your mark a secret and the way you spoke yesterday, a lot of people think you’re a bit of a poster boy for privacy for people in the public eye.”

 

“Oh,” Harry gasps. “Well,” he begins, scratching a little at the skin of his wrist under the watch, “it wasn’t exactly my intention to speak for anyone else. I just want privacy for myself. I don’t think it has much to do with my music, you know? It’s my private life.”

 

The interviewer nods, his eyes blue and piercing, and for a moment Harry can’t help but see another pair of piercing blue eyes in their place. “Yeah, I get that. I get that. But you know, you write music about your life and so people want to know what’s up, right?” The man laughs while Harry gulps, trying to remember the man’s name.

 

“Hummm, well. Yeah, I suppose that’s true too.”

 

“And the people love a good soulmate story!” the man continues carelessly, so rude and hurtful without even realising. “So you’re really not one of those hippy freaks waiting to fall in love the traditional way? Man, I had ten quid on that one against my producer.” He pouts, shaking his head at Harry.

 

Harry grimaces, trying to transform it into a smile while he imagines punching the man in the face. “Sorry mate,” he replies with a shrug. “I wouldn’t call them freaks though. They just think differently, that’s okay.”

 

“But imagine, you’re dating someone and you have someone else’s thoughts about you on your skin all the time? Come on, no one wants to see that. You’re fucking your girlfriend and she has her soulmate’s mushy feelings on her skin? Nahhh. I couldn’t do that,” the man continues dismissively, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

 

James? John? Harry still can’t figure out his name.

 

“To each their own,” he replies politely, sending Jeff a meaningful glance, trying to project _get me out of this interview now!!!_ vibes towards him.

 

“Okay, what about the theory you have a hidden soulmate somewhere?” Jonathan - or was it Jerry? - continues with a big laugh.

 

Harry feels his heart skip a beat and his mouth drying suddenly. He gulps. “What?” he mouths, shaking his head then trying again. He laughs a little. “I mean, what?”

 

“Yeah, you know? That you’ve met your match ages ago but you guys don’t wanna say? There’s some people who think it’s your guitarist.”

 

Under normal circumstances, the thought of him and Mitch - or him and anyone in his band really - being romantically linked would make him laugh, but he’s too shocked at how close to the truth, yet still so far away from it, this guy is getting to see the humour of the situation.

 

“Wow.” Harry forces himself to say it with conviction. “That’s some intense conspiracy theory there,” he adds with what he hopes is a friendly laugh. “I mean, people can think what they want of course, but in case anyone is curious Mitch is with my drummer and they’re very cute together.”

 

“Are they? Did they meet because of you?”

 

“Yeah, actually they met when we were auditioning drummers for the band. Since Mitch recorded it with me he was already in, obviously.”

 

“That’s really cute.”

 

Harry nods. It _was_ cute. It was more like a movie than any other matching stories he’s heard. Still, he thinks his story is the best one, even if it didn’t quite go according to plan at the end.

 

“Yeah, it was. Hopefully, my story will be as cute one day,” Harry forces himself to add, really trying to sell it.

 

“Awwwww,” the interview says exaggeratedly. “You’re a big romantic.”

 

Harry smiles, gritting his teeth, before turning slightly to give Jeff a dark look.

 

Then

 

“So, there’s this guy in one of my class who has an uncle who owns a studio,” Harry says casually one night, past midnight, exhausted from the midterms that keep coming for him.

 

“Yeah?” Louis says with a small hum from behind him, mostly half asleep. He shuffles a little, tightening his arm around Harry’s waist.  

 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “He said he might be able to get me a deal if I want to rent it to record my demo.”

 

“Really? That’s amazing babe.”

 

“Yeah. I’ve just got to figure out what songs should be on it. Once I’ve narrowed it down, I can record and start sending it to labels”

 

Louis hums thoughtfully again, his lips soft against Harry’s shoulder. He tangles their fingers together, making their marks line up.

 

“What is it?” Harry asks, sensing there’s something Louis wants to add.

 

“Nothing, I just…” He waits for a little while before sighing. “You should be careful, you know? I’ve been reading a lot, about the industry and stuff… I don’t want you to get a bad deal or a bad team, you know? I mean, look at all the horrible stuff they did to Kesha. I don’t want you to be trapped in something you don’t want.”

 

Harry doesn’t reply straight away, too taken aback by the comment to fully form a response. Louis has always been so supportive, so convinced Harry would make it, it’s a bit disjointed to hear him sound so hesitant now. After he’s spent the past couple of years encouraging Harry to pursue his dreams with the constant belief that it would happen, it hurts a bit not to have the enthusiastic response he was expecting.

 

“I’m not an idiot, I won’t let -”

 

“Being abused by powerful label executives doesn’t have anything to do with being an idiot. I know you’re smart and careful, I’m just saying.”

 

“Well, what are you saying exactly? You don’t think I should do it? It’s my greatest dream, I’m not going to give up on it because you’re scared,” Harry replies, feeling panic settle into his belly. He can’t do this without Louis and he doesn’t want to have to give up the one thing he’s always wanted because his soulmate is _worried._

 

“Fuck,” Louis whispers into Harry’s ears.

 

He pushes him a little away before sitting up in the bed, turning Harry so he’s laying on his back underneath the sheets and they can look at each other in the darkness of their bedroom.

 

“Harry, of course, I want you to do it. It’s your dream, I get it.”

 

“I don’t think you do,” Harry whispers back sadly, feeling a pang of guilt as it comes out of his mouth clumsily.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis asks slowly, carefully, taking his hand away from Harry’s body, eyes shifting to his wrist, probably already reading Harry’s culpability on it.

“Nothing,” Harry mumbles.

 

“Clearly not,” Louis says in a clipped tone, pointing to his wrist.

 

“I just mean that you don’t know what you want to do yet. So no, you don’t really get that this is my dream and that I want this more than anything in the world. That’s all.”

 

“Wow,” Louis whispers. “I knew the whole no ambition thing is something most people think of me, but I didn’t think I’d hear it from _you_ of all people.’

 

“Hey, no. That’s not what I mean.” Harry sits back up to, reaching for Louis’ hand, closing his eyes when Louis wraps it around his waist instead of meeting Harry’s touch. “Louis,” he sighs sadly. “I don’t mean it that way, you know that. All I’m saying is you're still looking for your path. That’s not a bad thing, for God’s sake. Don’t put your insecurities on me. I know it’s not a bad thing and I certainly don’t think badly of you because of it. I just meant you don’t get what it’s like to have this force, stronger than anything else, pushing you towards something. You don’t know what it’s like to know this is where you have to go above anything else.”

 

“Actually, that’s what I felt when I first met you, so yes, I do know,” Louis says shortly and Harry’s face falls.

 

“I love you,” he replies desperately, grabbing Louis’ face to kiss him a bit too harshly. He’s not sure exactly why they’re bickering about this, but he does know that the depth of his feelings is the only thing that matters.

 

Louis kisses him back, thank God, which means he’s not too furious at him. Still, he stops the kiss pretty quickly, tangling his fingers into Harry’s hair and pressing their forehead together.

 

“I don’t want you to give up your dreams, I love you,” he explains in a whisper. “I just want you to be careful,” he adds, almost begging Harry to understand, eyes tightly shut. “I don’t want you to sign the first stupid deal you’re offered just because you want it so bad. You’re a dreamer and I love that about you, but you need to think about the consequences.”

 

Now

 

“I’m just trying to remember what it feels to have a heart-, _”_ Harry sings in a hoarse voice, letting the last pause stretch uncomfortably. He closes his eyes against the tears, fingers wrapped too tightly around his guitar. “-beat.”

 

He can hear Justin - or was it James? - clapping, reminding everyone when the album is coming out and thanking him for coming out to the studio to chat and perform for them.

 

Harry nods, blinking quickly, chasing the tears away.

 

“Yeah, ‘course mate. Thanks for having me,” he replies after a second, shaking the man’s hand, hating the way his grip is as invasive as his questions were.

 

“Come back anytime,” John declares, dragging Harry into a hug without his consent.

 

By the time they reach the underground parking of the station, Harry’s hands are shaking.

 

“We actually have a bit more time than I thought before the last interview,” Jeff says, fiddling with the car keys. “Want to grab a coffee before?”

 

Harry snorts, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

 

“No,” he replies angrily.

 

“Woah, are you okay?” Jeff asks, making his way around the car to put a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder, finally noticing he’s on the verge of tears.

 

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Harry says and it’s not a question, not really. He already knows, deep in his bones, that all the prying soulmate questions were pre-approved by his team. They were asked with too much confidence, too much candour, for them to have been one man gone rogue.

 

No. Jeff did this. He asked Harry’s permission and when Harry explicitly said no, he went ahead and did it anyway.

 

He never considered himself to be a particularly violent person, using boxing and training as a healthy outlet for his anger, but right now, he really wants to punch something. Someone.

 

“You’re trending, did you know that?” Jeff says instead of answering the question. “Everyone thinks it’s so cute how you helped your bandmates meet and they’re all sooo excited for you to meet your soulmate. Pre-orders have already gone up.”

 

“Fuck’s sake!” Harry yells out, smacking the roof of the car. “I don’t give a fuck about the bloody pre-orders Jeffrey!”

 

“Yes, you do. You do care, you’re only saying that because you’re angry,” Jeff replies calmly, condescendingly, like Harry is some misbehaving child instead of the man who hired him.

 

“I said no!” Harry insists, so angry he starts crying. “I fucking said no more than once and that should have been the end of it when I did,” he adds, his hands shaking.

 

Jeff doesn’t roll his eyes, but he shifts his posture, making it quite obvious what he thinks of Harry’s tantrum. “Listen,” he says calmly, holding out his hands in a non-confrontational manner, “you have some time before your next interview to calm down and we can discuss it.”

 

Harry snorts. “Yeah. Right,” he replies bitterly, taking a step forward to snatch the car keys out of Jeff’s hands.

 

“Hey, what are you doing?”

 

“Driving myself to my interview,” Harry replies, walking past Jeff and around the car to get to the driver’s side. “You can grab a cab.”

 

“Wait a minute-”

 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face right now,” Harry interrupts coldly. “Consider yourself lucky you still have a job and take a bloody cab.”

 

He doesn’t let himself cry until he’s fully out of the parking lot and onto the road, but when he does, it pours out of him in a big sob. He grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, hands clenched too tightly, but he barely notices.

 

He doesn’t notice the van burning a red light either, too busy trying to calm down, but he feels its impact when it crashes mercilessly into Jeff’s car.

 

Then

 

Harry storms through the antique shop, pushing past Mrs. Flynn and a customer so fast and roughly that she yells at him to be careful, but he’s too frantic and excited to care.

 

He runs up the stairs, pushing the door to their flat open violently and stumbling inside, almost falling on his face when his foot gets stuck in the small pink carpet Louis grabbed from the shop one night because Harry said it was too pretty to go to strangers. Bertha’s little brother, Harry had claimed drunkenly, curled up in a ball on the said carpet, stroking it with one finger. He’s pretty sure they never paid for it, waiting silently for the day where Mrs. Flynn would notice it was missing.

 

“Louis!!!” he calls breathlessly once he’s regained his balance, smiling wide when he reaches the tiny living room and finds his soulmate watching a documentary about antiques.

 

Louis smiles up at him from the sofa, looking soft and delicate, bathed in sunlight. “What’s up love?”

 

“One of the labels called me back!” Harry yells happily, twirling in the centre of their living room. He laughs, raising a triumphant fist over his head.

 

“They did?” Louis replies, trying to get up so fast from the sofa he almost falls to the floor.

 

“They did!!” Harry confirms, wrapping Louis in his arms and starting to twirl again.

 

Louis laughs, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and sinking his fingers into his hair. “Oh my god babe! They called you back!!”

 

Harry stops twirling, stumbling a little as he tries to get used to Louis’ weight. “They loved my songs, Lou,” he says, voice thick with emotions.

 

Louis’ smile is blinding, but it softens in response and he carefully arranges Harry’s curls off his face. “Of course they did, my darling. Your songs are incredible.”

 

“One of the guys apparently said my voice is impressive for someone my age.”

 

“That’s also true,” Louis agrees before kissing Harry’s nose. “It’s my favourite sound in the world, did you know?”

 

Harry blushes. “Well, yours is mine.”

 

Now

 

It happens so fast Harry isn’t sure what’s going on at first. One second, he’s sobbing in his car, feeling properly sorry for himself, the next he’s in the back of an ambulance while a nice lady asks him questions he can’t seem to find answers for. His head is throbbing painfully and there’s an ache in one of his forearms, though he’s hurting so much he couldn’t quite tell which one.

 

“It’s alright,” the lady says in a soft voice, trying to get him to follow a light she’s aggressively pointing at his face.

 

He blinks confusedly, bringing a shaky hand to his head. His eyes widen when his fingers come back bloody.

 

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” the lady says when she notices his panicked expression. “No one got injured too badly. Now, what’s your name?”

 

Harry frowns. “I… Harry, my name is Harry.”

 

“Good,” she praises like he got the right answer on a particularly challenging test. “Do you know what year it is?”

 

Harry nods. It’s hard to hear her over the pounding in his head and the dizziness, but he manages to answer the question, and all the others she asks subsequently.

 

He’s taken straight to the emergency room when they get to the hospital and he tries to hide his face, looking down, but he can’t help but feel like people are staring, that they’re recognising him and whispering amongst themselves.

 

He’s too confused to fill his own paperwork, but he manages to give someone his name while they grab all his personal effects and they promise him to call his emergency contact while he’s rolled off to get a CT Scan.

 

He’s not sure what any of this means, but his head hurts and he assumes that they’re going to contact Jeff for him so he can cancel his last interview of the day. He lets himself be pushed through the hospital corridors, ignoring some of the nurses gasping at the sight of him.

 

Then

 

“You’re back late,” Louis calls from their bedroom when Harry slips quietly into the flat one night.

 

“Sorry,” Harry replies loudly, still smiling after the insane day he’s had.

 

He takes off his shoes, carefully placing them next to Louis’, before taking off and going to the kitchen. He drops his shopping bag on the table, careful not to break the bottle inside. Then he walks to the bathroom, waving at Louis who is sitting on their bed on his way. He goes straight to the sink to wash his face, leaving the door open so he can talk to Louis while going through his evening routine.

 

“I had a big meeting after class,” he explains, looking back through the corridor at their bedroom.

 

Louis hums, putting one of Mrs. Flynn’s magazines about vintage furniture away. “Lots of big meetings these days,” he comments carefully, picking at their old blanket with his thumb and index. It used to be in Louis’ childhood bedroom, a neon blue and green atrocity that Harry can’t wait to get rid off.

 

He mentally adds it to the list of things he’s going to buy for Louis once he gets his first official paycheck as a recording artist. As soon as everything is sorted, he’s going to buy the best duvet there is. He already has a couple of them bookmarked, all more expensive than the last, and he can’t wait until he can finally splurge. He’s going to buy the fluffiest pillows as well so that Louis will always feel like he’s sleeping on a cloud. He’ll have the most comfortable bed in London so that even when Harry is off on tour, he’ll always sleep soundly.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says, making an apologetic face at him before grabbing his toothbrush. “There’s a lot to discuss, you know? They have a lot of plans for me.”

 

“What kind of plans?” Louis asks face blank, but still nervously fidgeting.

 

Harry spits in the sink, before rinsing his toothbrush. “All sorts of plans,” he says vaguely. “They’d really want me to tour as soon as the album drops. Like, they think I could do a small theatre tour by myself straight away? Instead of opening for someone else? They’re thinking Europe and America, at least. I mean, the UK too obviously, but you know… Maybe even more. Like… they said they really want to push my stuff and prioritize me. It’s pretty amazing,” Harry explains clumsily, taking his jeans off and hanging them next to Louis’ towel.

 

“Isn’t that a bit ambitious?” Louis comments and Harry stops fiddling with the jeans, turning slowly towards the door to look at Louis’s profile from the bedroom.

 

“You don’t look too happy about it.”  

 

Louis rolls his eyes. “I am,” he says a bit too forcefully. “I just think it’s going a bit fast, that’s all. I mean, you haven’t even signed with them yet and they want you to tour America?”

 

“Actually, I signed with them tonight,” Harry reveals, smiling shyly to himself before closing the bathroom light and making his way to the bedroom.  “Surprise!” he adds with an awkward shrug from the doorway “I’ve got champagne in the kitchen if you-”

 

“You signed without telling me?” Louis asks, looking taken aback rather than excited.

 

“I…” Harry clears his throat, feeling a bit cheated of the reaction he was expecting. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you’d be happy.”

 

Louis sighs tiredly, then he offers Harry a small smile, patting the spot next to him on the bed. “I am,” he replies when Harry finally sits down next to him.

 

Harry looks straight into Louis’ eyes for a moment, reading sincerity in them, but also a hint of something else. He glances down at his wrist, fully expecting anything but _happiness_ to be written there. To his surprise, it is. But it flickers in and out of focus, being replaced by _worry_ and _insecurity,_ sometimes _pride_ too, every few seconds. The words are so fast he has trouble reading them at first and he gulps when he finally does.

 

“Seems like there’s a lot going on beyond you being happy for me,” he replies as casually as possible, trying not to feel worried himself.  

 

“I told you not to sign with the first random people,” Louis replies, but they both know this is not what’s going on here.

 

“They’re great and you know it,” Harry argues back, tone harsher than he meant it to be. “You researched them yourself!” he adds, desperate and confused because Louis did. Louis spent almost an entire night perusing every single mention of the company online before Harry went to his first meeting and even he had to admit they are a great fit. “Come on, Louis. Tell me why you’re worried, please?” Harry begs, sitting down on the bed next to him. “I don’t want to fight tonight. This is a good thing that’s happening to me here.”

 

A dark look passes on Louis’ face. “You say they have big plans for you? Touring and making you a household name? But what about us? What about you and me and our plans? Where do I fit in? I don’t… I don’t know if I want to be in the spotlight,” Louis admits in a small voice. “But I don’t want you to have to hide me either. What are we gonna do? What are you gonna say if interviewers start asking if you’re matched?”

 

“I…” Harry closes his mouth, surprised that their relationship is the source of Louis’ anxiety. If there is one thing in the world Harry feels secure about it’s the two of them. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits.

 

“Really? What about the label? What do they think? How do they want to sell you?”

 

“They don’t want to sell _me_ ,” Harry argues, trying to avoid answering the question.

 

“Don’t be naive love, the music isn’t the product, you are.”

 

“We didn’t really talk about it.”

 

“What does that mean?” Louis asks, frowning.

 

Harry shrugs, lowering his gaze. “I didn’t exactly tell them I’ve found you already,” he admits.

 

Louis doesn’t say anything and Harry’s eyes lock on his own wrist the moment the words stop flickering and it settles on _betrayal._

  

Now 

 

A doctor is bandaging his wrist carefully while explaining to him the frequent symptoms associated with the type of concussion he has when the door bursts open violently and Harry is suddenly face to face with a ghost.

 

“ _Sir_ ,” a reprehensive nurse calls from behind the man who can’t possibly be Louis, “you can’t just barge in there. Soulmates or not, you can’t just do whatever you want.”

 

“Is he alright?” Louis demands, eyes wide and wild, walking further into the room towards the doctor. He’s avoiding Harry’s eye line, focusing instead on the place where the doctor is finishing up Harry’s bandage, his fingers swift in their movement.

 

“He’s fine,” the doctor confirms and Harry gulps, quickly dismissing his theory that Louis’ presence is a mere hallucination caused by the fact that he hit his head hard. “He sprained his wrist, which is unfortunate for the guitar,” the doctor adds, smiling calmly at Harry, “ but he’ll make a full recovery. We’ll get you playing those songs in no time.”

 

Harry tries to smile back, but he can’t focus on the doctor long enough to make it convincing, his eyes automatically turning back to Louis, noting the ways he’s so different and yet exactly the same. He’s still shorter than Harry; his frame slight, but powerful as he easily commandeers the room. He’s wearing a short beard now, looking properly manly, and, for a wild instant, Harry wonders what it would feel like against his fingers, his lips. His hair looks as soft as ever, the same beautiful brown though he wears it longer now, a delicious contrast to the reddish twinges of his beard.

 

There’s no way Harry isn’t making him up right now.

 

“What about his head?” Louis asks, voice a bit frantic, but still airy and soft.

 

Harry looks down at his free wrist, naked for the first time in years, stomach clenching painfully when he sees the way the word _worry_ is written there, in all caps like Louis’ entire soul is shouting it.

 

None of this is making _sense._

 

“Well, he has a bit of a concussion I’m afraid. Nothing too serious, but he really can’t be alone for the next couple of days. You need to check up on him, make sure the symptoms aren’t too severe. He’s probably going to be confused and in pain, so he’s going to need a bit of support.”

 

“Right,” Louis nods tersely, fingers twitching against his thigh.

 

Harry whines a little at a particularly loud beep coming from the corridor and he shivers when Louis presses a hand against his calf, confirming his physical presence once and for all. Louis is here, somehow. Louis is here for him, though Harry can’t imagine why, and they haven’t touched in so long that Harry feels overwhelmed at the slightest brush, even through the layers of his trousers.

 

“He might be a bit more sensitive to noise and light, be more irritable, get headaches… Things like that. Just keep an eye on him and if anything looks really abnormal in the next few days, bring him back to the emergency room.”

 

“Are you prescribing anything to him for the pain?” Louis asks, stoic and still avoiding Harry’s eyes.

 

Harry would think him cold and indifferent if it weren’t for his mark, unchanged and revelatory, giving away the fact that Louis, even after all this time apart, is worried about it.

 

Harry shakes his head, trying to remind himself that they are linked and Louis is probably only here by obligation, worried because he’s designed to be, not because he feels things for Harry still.

 

“Over the counter medication is fine,” the doctor explains. “Acetaminophen ideally.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“I’ll be back in a moment if you have any questions,” the doctor says when a nurse waves him away from the door. “Mr. Styles, one of our nurses left your effects right here if you want to grab them. We’ll be able to send you home soon,” he adds towards Harry before leaving them alone together.

 

Harry closes his eyes and inhales deeply, feeling his eyes sting when Louis takes a step away from him.

 

“This is like a dream,” he whispers to himself, getting off the table and grabbing the bag with his phone, watch and wallet with one shaky hand.

 

“Like a nightmare,” Louis replies jokingly and Harry would be offended except he recognises the tone, the way Louis is uncomfortable and trying to make light of it.

 

Harry looks up and their eyes meet, Louis’ fake smile sliding off his face as they stare at each other with intensity.

 

There’s so much unsaid crackling between them.

 

“How did you know I was here?” Harry asks, frowning as he tries to piece back together what happened. He was in car accident, that much he knows, though he’s not quite sure what happened exactly.

 

“You don’t remember?” Louis says softly.

 

“Did I ask them to call you?” Harry says the word with difficulty, fearing the answer will be yes and Louis will know how much he needs him still, even though they decided their paths were too different for them to walk them together.

 

“No,” Louis replies, shaking his head. “They found my name in your file? Apparently, you haven’t been to an NHS hospital since… since we were together, so they had me as your emergency contact. Since I’m your soulmate and all.”

 

“Your what?” Jeff gasps from the doorway and Harry jumps a little, startled by the sudden apparition.

 

Then

 

It starts with a throwaway comment about Lottie’s birthday present, and suddenly…

 

“I can’t believe you!” Louis yells. “I told you weeks ago we were going to Donny this weekend. Weeks ago. It’s Lottie’s 20th birthday.”

 

Harry sighs. “I know, okay. I know. Do you think I want to miss Lottie’s birthday?”

 

“I don’t know Harry. These days it feels like all you do is miss things.”

 

“It’s an important opportunity for me Lou, what did you want me to say? Tell the label executive that I can’t perform in a prized time slot at the festival because of a birthday party?”

 

“Yes!” Louis replies through gritted teeth. “Yes, that’s exactly what I wanted you to say. It’s my family, Harry. Our family. It used to mean something to you.”

 

“How can you say that?” Harry asks, physically taking a step back with how shocked he is by the comment. “It means everything to me and you know it!”

 

“Does it? You’re always away! If I could come with you some of the time at least -”

 

“Oh, that’s rich!” Harry snorts, interrupting him. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want me to talk about you in the media. You’re the one who said your privacy is precious, that we need to stay secret!”

 

“What? So you would have been happy with everyone knowing every detail of our private business? With your fans knowing how we met and all that stuff that belongs to nobody but us? You would have liked that?”

 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t want people knowing that stuff, of course not, but I wouldn’t mind them knowing you exist!” Harry sighs, sick of the same old tired arguments. It feels like all Louis and he do these days is fight, Harry’s rising success a chasm in their relationship.

 

“You’re the one who didn’t tell the label about me!”

 

“Oh my god, how many times are you going to throw that to my face? I apologised a dozen times for it. I was scared they wouldn’t want to sign me if I was matched, that I’d seem unmalleable or something. I explained it to you before. You said you understood.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t!” Louis replies angrily. “I don’t want the media to know about us, but that doesn’t mean I want to feel left out of every decision.”

 

“See, this is what I think your problem is.”

 

“Who says I have a problem?”

 

“I think you’re jealous. You feel left out. Because, you’re still running around in circles, trying to figure out what you’re going to do, and I’m making real progress here.”

 

“You know what,” Louis huffs, turning his back to Harry, “fine. Perform at Festival whatever that no one has heard about. We’ll have fun at Lottie’s party without you,” he adds, slamming their bedroom door behind him.

 

It starts with a throwaway comment about Lottie’s birthday present.

 

Now

 

“Jeff,” Harry says calmly, still angry, but too exhausted to show it.

 

“Who the hell is this?” Jeff snaps, closing the door loudly behind him.

 

“I’m Louis,” Louis replies for Harry, offering Jeff his hand.

 

Jeff barely even glances at it, focusing his outrage and his confusion on Harry, pretending like Louis hasn’t even spoken.  

 

“Do you have any idea how worried I was when you didn’t show up to the interview? When the hospital called me? Then I get here and it’s a fucking struggle just to get through the front door with how many paps and fans there are!”

 

He’s still yelling and Harry’s head hurts so much he can’t quite grasp every word, but he feels his heart skipping a beat when he hears _paps._ He sighs, letting his shoulders drop.“Somebody called the paps?” he asks in a small voice, defeated, demolished, as the situation gets from terrible to significantly worse.

 

“Of course somebody called the fucking paps Harry!”

 

“Hey!” Louis whispers, grabbing Jeff’s arm and narrowing his eyes threateningly. “He has a concussion and he’s sensitive to noise right now, will you stop fucking yelling? Especially if there’s some arsehole leaking info to paps in here.”

 

Jeff inhales sharply, looking ready to explode for a second before he calms down and nods.

 

“What about this guy?” he continues, still angry but whispering now, listening to Louis’ instructions even if he’s giving him dirty side glances. “I thought it was a joke when I saw the google alert. Is he really your soulmate? You’ve lied to me all this time? Hiding him?”  

 

Time stops and Harry sways dangerously, feeling like he’s going to faint. “People know about Louis?” he asks, heart thundering.

 

“One of the nurses posted a photo of him on twitter,” Jeff replies. “They don’t know much about him beyond the fact that he’s your soulmate, but considering how noisy your fan base is, I wouldn’t give them too long for them to figure it out.”

 

Harry snorts, starting to laugh a little, feeling close to a breakdown. “So much for your precious privacy,” he tells Louis with an eye roll. It makes him feel nauseous a little and he wrinkles his nose, steadying himself with one hand against the examination table.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis says, voice soft and careful, and at least not everyone is mad at Harry right now.

 

He closes his eyes, basking in his favourite sound in the world. He’d forgotten how much he had missed Louis’ voice through the years, hearing it again making him feel both relieved and scared. He’s happy to finally have it back in his life, yet he knows it’s only a matter of time before Louis leaves again and he’s left in the darkness.

 

“What matters is getting you out of here and getting you some rest,” Louis continues and when Harry opens his eyes, he’s looking at Jeff expectantly.

 

“Right. We can think of a way to spin this with both of you later,” Jeff confirms. “Let me speak with hospital security, see how we can sneak you out of here. I need to call a car,” he continues, mostly speaking to himself, turning around to exit the room.

 

“I can drive him,” Louis interrupts Jeff’s mumbling, following him out of the room, probably to help him plan Harry’s escape.

 

Harry lets out a loud breath when they finally leave and he sits back down on the examination table as he waits for them to come back.

 

He shakes his head, hating the way his head keeps pounding and pounding, hating the way his thoughts keep circling back to Louis and his presence, the way he can’t help but wonder what it means that he showed up.

 

He opens the bag of his personal effects with one hand, the bandaged one pressed against his stomach, and he grabs his phone, opening up a safari page and googling his name.

 

The light of the phone is blinding and he can barely read the titles, but he still scrolls past rows and rows of articles mentioning the accident. They all have the same blurry pictures, one of Harry’s bloody hair matted against his forehead while he was getting rolled to his scan, the other of Louis at the front desk, his eyes wide and panicked. The articles have more questions than answers, but even Harry has to admit it’s a good story. He’d be invested in it, if it wasn’t his own personal nightmare. If it wasn’t the intimate details of his most precious relationship offered on a platter for public consumption.

 

He gulps, hit by a wave of nausea.

 

*

 

His head is still pounding by the time Jeff and Louis manage to sneak him off to the parking lot unnoticed. Even through the confusion and the hurt, he’s grateful for the scheme. He’s too tired, too upset, too annoyed, to deal with paps or even with fans. He’s exposed and vulnerable, more vulnerable he’s ever allowed himself to be in the public eyes, and the last thing he wants is to have to deal with it all while his head threatens to split in two. Then there’s the matter of Louis’ presence, more confusing and hurtful than anything no matter how comforting it is to have him there. Just the curvy silhouette of him ahead makes Harry want to cry and he shivers in the hoodie Jeff gave him when he realised how bloody his shirt was, closing his eyes tightly to stop the tears from coming. He can’t crack. He can’t cry.

 

Of course, walking blindly while having a concussion isn’t a very smart plan and Harry trips on his own feet, suddenly finding himself on his knees on the pavement.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Harry could swear Louis’ voice is coming from miles away, distant and foreign to his ears, but in the next second he appears at Harry’s side, like a knight in shining armour, his hand small, but comforting on Harry’s shoulder.

 

“Harry,” Louis sighs, pressing his other hand against Harry’s forehead. “Are you okay? Are you feeling dizzy? Do you need to go back in? We can get you checked again.”

 

Harry gulps, trying not to shake too much at Louis’ touch. He feels like an addict who never thought he’d get his fix again, like a man lost without water in the desert suddenly finding the source of life.

 

“I’m fine,” he replies tiredly, voice hoarse. He shakes his head, and Louis’ touch off in the process, already regretting it the second it's gone.

 

“You fell babe, you’re not fine,” Louis says and Harry clenches his fist painfully at the term of endearment.

 

He’s just worried, he rationalises. They’re soulmates, connected by powers beyond their imagination, it’s normal Louis is feeling a bit frazzled. That’s all it is, Harry reminds himself carefully. That’s all it is and it will go away.

 

“I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Harry admits, “that’s all. I had my eyes closed.”

 

Louis huffs, clearly disapproving and that’s more familiar. “You have a concussion. You need to be careful.”

 

“I know,” Harry replies, avoiding Louis’ gaze. “The lights in here are really blinding,” he adds. “I have a headache, so I closed my eyes.” Part of it is true which should be enough of a cover up.

 

Louis makes a compassionate sound low in his throat, then he offers Harry his arm. “Here,” he says softly, “we’ll walk together, you can keep your eyes closed.”

 

And that… That just makes Harry want to cry even more so he closes his eyes, praying he won’t break down in front of Louis, letting himself be guided gently, their arms intertwined together and one of Louis’ hand careful on Harry’s lower back.

 

“Almost there,” Louis whispers after a while and it only takes a few more seconds before he adds “here we go” and he unlocks a car door.

 

Harry opens his eyes, lets out a tiny gasp, then feels his eyes fill with tears as the sight of Bertha becomes blurry.

 

“You okay?” Louis says from the other side of the vehicle that holds some of the best memories of Harry’s life.

 

“Yes,” Harry replies with difficulty, still trying not to let the tears fall. He looks down and fumbles with the door handle for a few seconds, swearing under his breath before finally managing to get in, sitting down and buckling his seat belt.

 

It’s only when Louis starts the engine that Harry starts really crying.

 

He does so as silently as possible, eyes closed and staying still, just letting the tears roll down his cheeks and hoping Louis won’t notice.

 

Louis, who kissed him for the first time pressed against this very car, who kept it all those years somehow, despite the fact that it’s falling apart.

 

“Hey,” Louis says, soft and careful, blowing Harry’s cover.

 

“Hey,” Harry replies, keeping his eyes tightly shut.

 

“Can you look at me?” Louis asks, pleads, and it’s only because he sounds almost desperate that Harry opens his eyes and turns around.

 

They haven’t left the parking yet, haven’t moved at all, and Harry wishes they would. He needs to not be in this car, not be with Louis. Louis who is a blurry shape in front of Harry, but who looks _sad_ even through Harry’s tears.

 

“You’re okay,” Louis says confidently, his smile frozen and awkward, not quite reaching his eyes. He extends his arm towards Harry’s cheeks, wiping the tears off his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re gonna be okay.”

 

“Am I?” Harry can’t help but ask. Everyone knows now. They all know what a fraud he is. They might not know the extent of his failure, but they know he lied to them, over and over again.

 

“Well,” Louis replies jokingly, “Bertha definitely thinks so.” He personifies her easily like they’ve done a thousand times before when they lived together and were arguing over who would get her for the day. Or back when they were kids who only had a few hours a week together they mostly spent making out, breaking apart to jokingly pretend to _be_ an offended Bertha catching them in the act.

 

Harry sniffs, looking down at his knees, then at the pile of stuff there is accumulated in the car, the vehicle still such a reflection of its owner that it _hurts._

 

“Well, we both know Bertha knows everything,” Harry replies before wincing.

 

“You okay?” Louis asks, leaning forward.

 

Harry nods, cheeks still wet. “Head hurts a bit.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Dunno if you heard, but I smashed it pretty hard.”

 

“You know, that actually rings a bell.”

 

Harry wipes his face with his own hoodie - well Jeff’s hoodie but after the amount of snot and dirt Harry accidentally got on it, he’s not sure he’s ever going to want it back - then he risks a glance at Louis’ face.

 

“Are you driving me home?” he asks in a small voice.

 

Louis smiles politely, his uncomfortable smile reserved for the moments where he really doesn’t want to be there, then nods. “Actually, your manager and I agreed it might not be the best idea, considering what happened. There’s probably paps and stalkers there so I’m taking you to my place. I know it’s not ideal, but…”

 

Not ideal is one way of putting it, Harry figures as he struggles not to start crying again.

 

He can’t do an entire evening at Louis’ place, exposed to Louis’ presence. He’s not strong enough for that.

 

Still, the doctor did say he shouldn’t be left alone, so he agrees easily.

 

*

 

Harry makes it two steps out of Bertha when they reach the antique shop before he starts throwing up on the pavement, his stomach heaving painfully.

 

“Shit,” Louis mumbles, closing his door and running around the car to wrap an arm around Harry’s shoulder while he finishes puking. “The doctor said that might happen. You okay?”

 

“No really,” Harry admits. “I think I’m gonna vom again.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Louis says, seemingly to himself while he pushes Harry a little to the left of the building they spent so much time in together. “Here, sit down,” he continues, pushing Harry softly until he lets himself drop on the sidewalk, head between his legs.

 

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, starting to shiver.

 

“Do you need anything?”

 

“No,” Harry replies. “I’m just cold and have a head injury, I’m fine. Also, you’re here,” he whines.

 

“Here,” Louis says, taking off his hoodie and wrapping it around Harry’s shoulders, choosing to ignore the rest of his sentence. He starts rubbing his hands up and down on Harry’s arms and shoulders, slowly making him stop shivering.

 

“I can’t believe you still live here.”

 

“I like it here,” Louis replies a bit defensively. “I like antiques and managing the shop.”

 

“I _know_ ,” Harry whispers, meaning to say “I know you”. “I didn’t mean it like… Nevermind. I just… I didn’t think I’d ever see this place again.”

 

“Not that you’re seeing much of it,” Louis teases, his finger light on Harry’s ear for a second.

 

Harry keeps his eyes closed, willing the nausea away and inhaling deeply.

 

“Still feel like throwing up?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry admits uneasily. “My head’s all… I don’t know.”

 

“Alright, we can wait a bit longer.”

 

“Distract me,” Harry begs. “I really don’t want to throw up again.”

 

“I…”

 

Harry can almost feel the way Louis deflates and maybe this was a stupid request, considering everything between them feels tense and delicate, explosive in the worst way.

 

“Tell me how Mrs. Flynn is doing,” Harry asks desperately. “Does she still yell at you all the time?”

 

“Mrs. Flynn passed away,” Louis replies awkwardly and Harry feels like he just reached inside of his chest to squash his heart himself. “She left me the shop and the flat. She didn’t have any kids and wanted someone to carry on, you know?”

 

“Oh god,” Harry whines before throwing up again. He gags once, twice, then pukes for the third time, tears streaming down his face.

 

“God, I’m such a jerk,” Louis whispers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that. I’m just… This is harder than I thought and I don’t know what to say. I keep messing up.”

 

Harry sighs, straightening himself up and wiping his mouth with Jeff’s hoodie. That’s all he deserves for the stunt he pulled earlier, Harry figures.

 

“It’s fine,” he replies and he’s surprised to find that he actually means it. The bad news hurt, of course, but there’s a part of him that feels relieved to know that Louis is as messed up and confused about the situation as Harry is. He’s been a bit stoic so far, only showing genuine emotion when he first came to the hospital and thought Harry was gravely injured. And even then, it was mostly Harry’s soulmark that gave him away rather than anything he said.

 

“It’s not really.”

 

Harry chuckles darkly. “No, not really.”

 

“Wanna come up?”

 

*

 

The flat looks so much the same as it did when he lived here that Harry feels like he’s stepping back in time the moment he walks in, the smell of the dusty pieces of furniture coming from downstairs still so powerful that he sneezes the second he passes the door.

 

It smells like home though and a deep anxiety within Harry’s chest suddenly settles. “S’good to be back here,” he admits reluctantly, smiling at the pink carpet, faithfully welcoming him home after so long.

 

“Is it?” Louis asks brows furrowed like he’s truly puzzling through Harry’s comment.

 

“Did Mrs. Flynn ever find out you took the carpet?” Harry asks instead of answering.

 

Louis snorts. “She knew the moment I took it, of course. No one knew the objects in that shop better than her. Well, I’m getting close now, but I’ve still got a few years to go before I reach the inner inventory level that she had.”

 

“Did she make you pay for it?”

 

“She deducted 10 pence from my paycheck every week from the moment she noticed it was gone until it was paid at full price.”

 

“That was a thousand quid carpet!” Harry gasps. “You should have given it back when you realised she knew.”

 

Louis shrugs, taking off his hoodie, trying to hide his blush. “You liked it,” he admits shyly and Harry looks back down at the carpet, at the detailed pattern and the vibrant colours.

 

“Yeah, I do like it.”

 

He sways a little, then holds himself against the doorway.

 

“You should sit down,” Louis says, starting to fret over him. “It’s getting late and you need to rest. Go in the living room, I’ll bring you some tea and a change of clothes.”

 

Harry obeys quietly, playing with his phone absently while he listens to the lulling sounds of Louis moving through the flat. He’s looking through the nasty comments about them on twitter by the time Louis comes back with his cuppa.

 

“Don’t do that,” Louis says when he notices the twitter logo, grabbing the phone from his hand and taking it the way. 

 

“Heyy,” Harry pouts, still accepting the cup of tea in exchange.

 

“Nothing good can come from checking the bullshit people are saying.”

 

“Maybe I was looking to see how my manager is trying to spin this,” Harry argues, just for the sake of arguing. He was having a pity party and Louis caught him right at it.

 

“Well don’t do it. That doesn’t matter for now. The only thing that matters is you getting better and you resting.”

 

“You’re right, I suppose. But I wouldn’t say it doesn’t matter. Since I don’t really trust my manager at the moment, I’m a bit worried about what he’s off saying.”

 

“I said don’t worry about it,” Louis assures him. “I talked to him.”

 

“What do you mean, you talked to him?”

 

“Just… I told him to consult us before he says anything. I warned him, I guess.”

 

“You did?” Harry says, warmth blooming in his chest.

 

“So,” Louis says a bit more loudly, “you have a new album coming out?”

 

Harry sighs. With everything going on, he had almost forgotten.

 

“Yeah, on Friday…”

  
  
Louis nods pensively, clearly trying to distract him. “Are any of the songs about me?” he asks innocently and surely he has to know. Harry can’t imagine he doesn’t. There must be something off in Harry’s eyes because suddenly Louis’ smile fades. “What did I say?” he asks, uncomfortable under Harry’s scrutiny.

 

“All of my songs are about you,” Harry replies helplessly and suddenly everything shifts, the conversation becoming heavy in an instant as they start talking about something real.

 

Louis fidgets for a second, getting up from where he was sitting on the coffee table, starting to pace the room a little. He stops, turning back towards Harry and shaking his head.

 

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” he finally says warningly, voice shaking a little.

 

Harry huffs, looking up to Louis with confused eyes. “You’re my soulmate, Louis,” he exhales painfully. “Every breath I take is about you. And every breath you take is about me. It doesn’t matter how far apart we are, or how much you hate me, that will never change.”

 

“I don’t hate you, Harry,” Louis says, shaking his head, still looking shaken and panicked. “I could never hate you,” he adds with a desperate laugh. “I was mad, it’s true. I still am some days, but that doesn’t mean I hate you. How could you think that?”

 

Harry shrugs, exhausted beyond words and feeling empty. “I don’t know,” he admits because as they are talking about it, it does sound ridiculous. “I stopped looking at my mark for so long… I guess it was easier to remember your angry words and the certainty of your disappointment than facing whatever new thing my mark could have told me.”

 

Louis nods slowly, giving Harry a small smile, a tiny sad thing from the corner of his mouth. “I know what you mean.” He chuckles, looking around the quiet flat. “We really messed things up, didn’t we?”

 

Harry bursts into tears, something about the way Louis looks so fond, yet so sad, mixed in with the drilling still going on in his head making him more vulnerable.

 

“We really did,” he agrees through the tears. “I’m sorry Louis. I really messed up. And tomorrow everyone is going to know it.”

 

“Fuck everyone else,” Louis replies fiercely, kneeling next to the sofa and grabbing Harry’s bandaged arm carefully. “This is between you and me and we’re the only ones it concerns. I’m the only human on Earth who gets to say you messed up this relationship and you’re the only human being on Earth who gets to say I messed up this relationship.”

 

“You messed up this relationship,” Harry declares through the tears, making Louis laugh a little.

 

“Yeah, right back at you babe. And I’m sorry too.”

 

“I miss you,” Harry admits. “So much. I probably wouldn’t say it if I weren’t so fucked up because I hit my head and because I feel so tired, but it’s true. I do. I miss you every day.”

 

Louis is nodding along, carefully listening to every single of Harry’s words and it feels like there on the verge of figuring this out. Maybe. Perhaps. Somehow.

 

“I miss you too,” Louis agrees breathlessly.  “I handled this wrong, _we_ handled this wrong.”

 

Harry’s heart skips a beat, a new beacon of hope lighting between his ribs. “I’m still singing,” he reminds Louis, trying to stop himself feeling so optimistic. “And even more people know who I am now, that hasn’t changed. My privacy is always threatened. I mean, you saw what happened tonight. They took photos of you without your consent and put them online and -”

 

“Harry.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“Are you sure?” Harry asks nervously. He starts to babble. “I can’t lose you again. I can’t… try this and then lose you again. If you’re not sure-”

 

“Harry," Louis says softly, pressing a palm against Harry's cheek, "I’m sure.”

 

Much Later

 

Harry smiles at the crowd, eyes meeting Louis’ in the front row. He wrinkles his nose when Louis grimaces at him, making goofy faces in the hope that he’ll break down and start giggling in the middle of the show.

 

Not this time. Harry is much stronger than this now.

 

Still, he waves at him as discreetly as possible, knowing that the thousands of camera phones in the crowd are picking up the movement to analyse it, that later on, his fans are going to scream about how painfully cute he and Louis still are after all these years.

 

The thought doesn’t bother him that much anymore.

 

He grabs the guitar Mitch is handing him, then he speaks softly into the microphone.

 

“This song is dedicated to my soulmate and to all the steps it took for us to get here. It’s called Sweet Creature.”  


End file.
